


Twenty Miles Out

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Series: Destiel/ Cockles Chapter Series [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Babies, Bi-Curious Dean Winchester, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Daydreaming, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Drama, Fights, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Graphic Description, Hand Jobs, Homophobic Language, Hospitals, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Jealous Dean, M/M, Masturbation, Mechanics, Medical Trauma, Memories, Mixed Emotions, Music, News Media, POV Dean Winchester, Past Relationship(s), Piano, Podfic Welcome, Relationship(s), Scared Dean, Scared Sam, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Sibling Rivalry, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Time Skips, attempted suicide, clubs, possible triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-06-07 06:14:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 157,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6789688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester leaves his home town of Lawrence for a road trip without a clear goal or direction. When his beloved car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, the handsome tow truck driver, Cas saves him. Dean is on his way again a few days later, but he can’t get that quirky guy with his blunt honesty and those deep blue eyes out of his head. He soon learns that to find the right way, you sometimes need to turn around.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>(Summary courtesy of <a href="https://procasdeanating.tumblr.com">procasdeanating</a>)</p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <a href="http://s358.photobucket.com/user/worksbysenorajane/media/20170328_181827_zpstvxqyyc1.jpg.html"></a><br/><img/><br/></p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breakdown

                It started with a _pop_.

                Dean knew he shouldn’t have ignored it but he was only about two hundred miles into this drive and something just couldn’t be going wrong now.

                But then the hissing started.

                Then his temperature gauge started climbing.

                The engine sputtered – the manifold shook.

                And now, here he is—stuck between _nowhere_ and _where the fuck_ with a smoking engine and absolutely _no_ patience.

                _His brother might've been right._

                That thought alone is enough to make him start kicking the dirt on the side of the highway—spitting and cussing while punching the air. It was all just so fucking typical! Just when he finally gets up the nerve to hit the road—just when he thinks he finally has a chance to get a handle on his life and feel like himself again, the one thing that has never failed him—fails him.

                _Well ..._

                _No_ ... _she_ didn’t fail him, that was wrong. His poor, poor baby.

                He’s pissed, but not at her. He’s pissed at himself because it was _his_ job to take care of her … _he’s_ the one that failed. He knew she probably needed one more complete check-up before he left town; but he had made up his mind to go—and go he would. Nothing was going to stop him; apparently, not even _necessary_ things.

                Sam said he needed to slow down. He told him that there was no need to rush off so quickly. Just because Lisa left him and he went under on his house, and just because the shop was in the red far more often than it was ever in the black, didn’t mean that Dean needed to just throw it all to the wayside. He could stay and work on it. He could stay and try and bring himself above water. He could stay and accept the help that his family and friends were trying to give him.

                Yes … he could have stayed, but that was never Dean’s style.

                He knew Sam had a point, and the white curls of smoke billowing from his baby’s hood somehow made that point even clearer … but he made his choice. There is _literally_ no going back now.

                With a sigh and one final “fuck” hurtled towards the sky, Dean pops open the Impala’s top to see just what was going on. More smoke puffs out and it makes him cough and sputter.

                “Damn ... I’m so sorry, girl.”

                His baby’s engine hisses once more in response and Dean nods his head in shame. After the smoke has cleared some, he bends down further to take a look at everything. Thankfully—it appears all the heat is coming from the oil burning off and not any actual parts-damage. The battery still has some fluid in it and the dip stick shows him some char that is _not_ _pleasant_ , but nothing an oil change and a few more quarts couldn’t fix. So all that leaves is the coolant, which he _did_ replenish before he left; although, one hip-bump to the edge of the grill shows the obvious lack of fluid in the reservoir.

                “What the fuck?” he mumbles—ducking his head into the bay to try and figure out where the leak is—because there has to be one. He sticks his hand below the now-dry container, feeling each valve and tube thoroughly. He closes his eyes and begins counting each one. He’s taken this car apart so many times, he can quite literally put it back together without looking, and finds that it’s actually easier to piece it all by feeling out patterns and sequences, and not with any sort of _visual_. Soon, he gets to the main line that feeds the coolant into the engine—fingers sliding down the side of the rubber tube, knowing just how it _should_ feel, letting out a groan when the obvious hole meets his touch instead.

                It’s just a tube. A god damn $1.50 piece of rubber.

                Something that he bought and sold by the dozen at his shop—something that if he just took _two seconds_ to check it out, he would've known he needed. _But no_ … he was in a rush to leave that town behind.

                And now _Baby_ is the one to suffer for it.

                _Fuck._

                The loud honk of a horn makes him jump—bumping his head on the inside of the hood.

                “ _Fuck!_ ” he is now yelping aloud, rubbing the back of his head to feel if there’s a lump.

                ”Apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you” a gruff voice calls out over the truck’s rumbling diesel. “I just saw that you were pulled off the highway with your hood up, and I was wondering if you needed assistance.”

                Dean backs away a few steps and covers his eyes against the sun, trying to get a better look inside the cab of the tow-truck that is now rattling beside him. The man sitting behind the wheel is hard to make out, but his bright eyes are fairly clear through the waving Missouri heat and dust kicking up in the breeze. “ _Umm_ …” Dean mumbles, not really liking the idea of his baby getting dragged on the hook of this beat-looking thing, but he really has no idea where the next town is and he needs to get a coolant tube before sundown, and before he’s stuck out here all night. “Yeah … well, I might” he fumbles—pride getting in the way once again.

                The truck’s engine quiets quickly and the driver’s side door pops open with a creak. Soon, the driver is striding up beside Dean—hands stiff at his sides as he leans over to look beneath Baby’s hood. Dean would protest but the guy seems so insistent, it stunts all his words.

                “You have no coolant” the man says dryly.

                Dean crumples his face—offended that this dude feels the need to state the obvious to him. “Yeah, _I know_. I got a hole in the line. I need a new one.”

                “Well …” the man says a little softer now, straightening back out and turning to face Dean head on. “That should not be very difficult to find. Do you want me to take you into town to purchase a replacement?”

                _He does_ —but then again, _who the hell is this guy_? A tow truck driver, _obviously_ —but he sure as hell doesn’t _look_ like one. He’s wearing a white button down shirt for Christ’s sakes! And Dean has never in his life seen a man drive such a decrepit beast while wearing such shiny dress shoes. And the guy talks like he’s about to start a tour at a museum. Dean nearly laughs—wondering if he broke down somewhere just outside the Twilight Zone. “ _Uh_ … well …”

                “Forgive me. Where are my manners? I haven’t even introduced myself. I'm Castiel.” The man holds out his hand for Dean to shake.

                Dean looks down at it a moment, noticing the callouses and the rough scars—they’re similar to his own and he finally relaxes a little with the sight of _something_ that proves this guy might be legit. You don’t get hands like _that_ from sitting at a desk all day. _Those are a mechanic’s hands._ Dean finally reaches over and grasps the man’s palm with a firm grip—the side of the truck catching his eye after looking into the blue set just across from him. “Lew’s Towing … so I take it, you’re _not_ Lew then?” he says playfully—letting the shake drop with the trill of his words.

                The other man cocks his head to the side and squints his eyes—as if Dean had just spoken to him in tongues. “Obviously not—since I just told you my name is Castiel.”

                “It was a joke—I, _uh_ … okay. _Never mind._ ” Dean waves off the thought, because this is all more than just a little strange. _This guy_ —dressed for Wall Street; the elusive _Lew_ … the fact that he could have avoided all this if he had just looked a little longer underneath his baby’s hood.

                He kicks himself some more.

                “You never answered my question” Castiel pitches, bringing Dean’s focus back to him.

                “W-what?” Dean stutters, feeling almost breathless now. _Damnit,_ why didn’t he just check under the hood before?

                “Do you want me to take you into town for a replacement?”

                Dean inhales one more collecting breath, knowing that there's no point to dwelling on what's done. “ _Uh_ —is there a town near here?”

                “About twenty five minutes East. Twenty miles or so … it’s not very large, but the local auto shop should have the part you need.”

                Dean nods and squints back at the curious man at his side. In spite of his dress and the odd way he talks—he’s not giving Dean that _killer-vibe_. Actually, his face seems really pleasant … a thought that makes him feel _even more_ off kilter; it's just ... this man’s big, blue eyes and wrinkled brow make him seem almost familiar; like someone Dean could've known all his life in his old town of Lawrence. This guy makes him feel like he’s not really that far away anymore … and it’s strange how okay that is; especially since Lawrence is what he’s been trying to be _far away_ from. “ _Uh_ … well, yeah. If you wouldn’t mind giving me a lift, I could really use that part.”

                “If you don’t want all your cylinders to melt—I would say you _need_ that part.”

                Dean chuckles a little. “Yeah—guess you’re right. So, you really don’t mind?”

                “I drive a tow truck, so it _is_ my job to assist in these matters.”

                Dean laughs again. “Sorry for saying so, but you don’t really _look_ like you drive a tow truck.”

                Castiel tilts his head once more, giving Dean that confused-puppy stare. “I drove here _in_ a tow-truck; how does that _not_ look like I drive one?”

                “I mean, you just don’t dress like any tow truck driver I’ve ever seen. They’re usually in some sort of jump suit, covered in twenty layers of grime ... and they are usually fat and barely speak in anything but grunts … and— _you_ just aren’t like that."

                “Would you be more comfortable if I _were_ like that?”

                Dean gapes a little because he didn’t think he was coming off as _uncomfortable_. “ _No_ … I mean, well—you just took me by surprise, man. It’s all good though. I _uh_ —I appreciate you offering to help.”

                Blue eyes drop to the ground, bouncing in a semi-satisfied nod. “Alright then. Please accompany me to my vehicle so we can be on our way.” Castiel is no sooner turning on his heels and heading back to the driver’s side of his truck.

                Dean almost snorts in disbelief. _This guy is weird_. This whole day is weird.

                Once again, he kicks himself.

                _Sam was right._

                He should've waited and thought this out a bit more.

***

                The first five minutes of the drive into town were awkwardly silent. Once again, unlike any tow truck driver Dean has ever met—the guy drove _sensibly_. He didn’t speed—in fact, he was painstakingly loyal to the speed limit. Dean kept pressing down his phantom gas pedal, trying to move things along, but they never went any quicker. Castiel also held the wheel at exactly 10 and 2—as if he were taking his driving test for the first time; and he would check his mirrors every thirty seconds like clockwork. "Methodical" was too soft of a word to describe this guy. Dean was almost in awe.

                “If you don’t mind my asking, where are you heading?” Castiel’s voice rumbles—louder than the rumbling engine and once again, it makes Dean jump.

                “Oh – _uh_. Not sure, just _heading._ ”

                Castiel smiles crookedly and Dean feels himself chuckle with the sight. “That must be nice.”

                “Really? Why?” Dean is thoroughly confused now. He’d think someone as put together as Castiel seems to be, wouldn’t like the idea of driving with no destination in mind.

                The crooked smile grows bigger. “Because the road is freeing.”

                Dean is grinning now too. “Finally, someone who gets it!”

                “Who wasn’t getting it before?” Castiel asks, glancing over at Dean instead of his rearview, and Dean feels his cheeks heat up.

                “Oh, _um_ … my brother. He _uh_ —he didn’t understand why I wanted to leave. I _uh_ —let’s just say things haven’t been going well for me lately” Dean grumbles, blushing even more so he turns to look out the passenger window to try and hide his face.

                “I’m sorry to hear that. I understand wanting to leave in order to clear your head. That's why I enjoy driving the truck. It gives me time to think.”

                “How _did_ you start driving this thing anyway? You still don’t strike me as the type.” Dean turns back to look at Castiel, happy to get the attention off of himself for a moment.

                The guy is still smiling and something about it makes him seem warmer—more approachable. “I wasn’t _the type_ , as you say. My original means for employment was in tax accounting. I was good at it, and numbers and order and filing has its own sort of calming-effect.”

                Dean scoffs. “If you say so.”

                “I do.”

                Dean shakes his head. _Weirdo._

“But I found that over time, I enjoyed working with my hands _more_. My brother’s friend, Lew runs the auto shop we’re going to and one day, he asked me to help him with a repair. I really didn’t know anything about cars—but the repair was minor and my brother was out of town, or else Lew would have requested his services instead. That was several years ago now, and I've learned a great deal about cars and how they work. It was a whole new order that seemed far more exciting than numbers on a page—so I quit my job and began working for Lew. I don’t know enough to be a repairman, per say. I'm not certified even if I did; I can drive this truck, however—and I can help people with some of the smaller things. I get to drive and I get to use my hands. It really is quite wonderful.”

                “But … the get-up?” Dean says, understanding every word that this man has said—he has had similar epiphanies, but what he still _doesn’t_ understand is why he dresses the way he does.

                Castiel’s smile drops slightly trading places once again for his confused-look. “I enjoy being professional. That involves dressing a certain way.”

                Dean throws up his hands in surrender. “Whatever floats your boat, man. And I gotta say—it’s pretty badass of you to just up and leave a cushy job like that; so I guess—dress however ya want. If it makes ya feel good, then why not? That’s what I always say anyway.”

                “I have a similar saying … but mine is not as lengthy.”

                Dean laughs out loud now—good and hearty in a way he wasn’t expecting, not after watching his baby disappear into the distance. “Well, I'm usually not so chatty, so … don’t get used to these lengthy words of wisdom.”

                “I’m not usually very conversational either. That is one of the reasons why I chose accounting—numbers don’t need to know your life story.”

                “Cars don’t either. That’s why I love ‘em.”

                “Your vehicle _is_ very lovely. I can tell you put a lot of work into it.”

                “ _Her_.”

                “Her?”

                “Yeah … Baby is a _her._ She's my baby.”

                Castiel scrunches his brow again and gives Dean a curious glance from the corner of his eye. “You are a very strange man.”

                “Wow, high praise coming from _you_ ” Dean pokes back with a laugh.

                “I take it, that is another one of your jokes?” Castiel asks—straight faced, but something in his voice makes Dean think he’s being a smartass, and it warms him up to the guy even more.

                “Ten points to Gryffindor.”

                “ _And_ you read Harry Potter. A strange man, indeed.”

                “You ain’t no bouquet of normal, yourself!”

                “ _I_ at least introduced myself—like a _normal_ person would do. I realize now, I am driving a complete stranger in my truck, and if you were to try anything, I wouldn’t even be able to tell the authorities your name.”

                Dean is doubling over laughing once again, and—he really wasn’t expecting this drive to be so damn _fun_. “Well …” he wheezes, wiping a tear away from his eye. “Do you think if I were gonna try anything, I would want you to know my name?”

                “Does that mean you are _planning_ on trying something? Because I have to warn you—I am very handy with a crow bar.”

                “I'm shaking in my boots!”

                “You might be if I have to show you my skills.”

                Dean is absolutely loving the way this dude can say the weirdest shit with such a straight face—and he finds himself suddenly wishing that Sam could meet Castiel. He has a feeling they’d get along great. After a few more laughs and a minute to settle down, Dean holds out his hand to the man again. “I’m Dean—Dean Winchester, and I herby promise _not_ to try anything—although, I _am_ curious to see your crow bar skills.”

                Castiel glances down at Dean’s hand quickly, looking a little wary to remove one of his own from the steering wheel, but he finally does so, so they can share a quick shake.

                “A pleasure” he says, showing Dean another soft smile.

                “Pleasure's all mine. _Really,_ man … I was kind of pissed off earlier, if you couldn’t tell. But _uh_ —I feel better now. Thanks.”

                “I understand. The majority of the people I assist are not in the best of moods. People are generally very attached to their vehicles.”

                “That’s an understatement. That car back there … she’s my everything. No matter what happened, Baby was there for me. _She’s home_ , so when she hurts— _I hurt_.”

                Castiel is peeking at him again, but this time—Dean doesn’t mind it so much.

                “I just hate that I let her get like that. I should’ve known better.”

                “Car troubles aren’t always predictable” Castiel says softly, obviously trying to be of comfort.

                But Dean can’t take it. “No—Baby’s troubles are _always_ predictable. I rebuilt her a hundred times. I know exactly what’s going on with her with every sound she makes, and I knew before I left that she needed some attention, but I had my head too far up my ass to give it.”

                “ _You_ rebuilt it— _her?_ ”

                The correction makes Dean beam. “Yeah, I _uh_ —I actually ran an auto parts place back in Lawrence— _Kansas_ … that’s where I was coming from, and _uh_ , well—the shop sorta went under but that's still no excuse. I had everything I needed to make sure she was in shape for a long trip. I should’ve made sure she was good to go.”

                “The way you speak about your car is very … it’s very _kind_. I think I only have ever heard my father speak that way, but that was about his children.”

                Dean smiles brighter. “Like I said—she’s my baby.”

                “So it would seem.”

***

                The town was very tiny— even tinier than Lawrence, and Dean was kind of surprised it even _had_ an auto shop, especially one as well stocked as _this._ It was well organized too, and the aisles were long. It actually made him a little sad. Maybe if _his_ place was this put together, he wouldn’t have lost it all.

                “This is Lew, the friend I was telling you about. Lew, this is Dean Winchester. His car overheated twenty miles outside of town.”

                Dean moved the replacement tube to his other hand in order to free his right to shake Lew’s. Now _this guy_ , this guy was what Dean expected in a place like this. His mustache was raggedy and took up most of his face. He was graying and overweight, and looked like he could talk your ear off with stories from “the good ol’ days.” Dean liked him instantly—he kind of reminded him of his uncle Bobby.

                “Lucky, Cas here found ya. You would’ve had a mighty long walk if he didn’t.”

                Dean laughs and shakes the man’s hand harder. “Tell me about it. I was 'bout ready to lose it out there. This hasn’t been a great day for me.” The tiniest frown on Castiel’s face catches his eye and Dean falters a moment. “ _Um_ …” he continues, pulling back to look at Lew and finally retract his hand. “It’s a stupid little thing too—my coolant line sprung a leak. If I'd just looked under the hood before I left—”

                “Happens to the best of us. Us car guys can be a little ignorant when it comes to our own … I once did a full overhaul on my T-Bird, detailing everythin’ just perfect. Went to start it after a year of slavin’ away … forgot to put a damn battery back in.”

                Dean laughs and nods, handing over the packaged tube for Lew to ring up. “Man—that makes me feel better, thanks.”

                “No problem, son. That’ll be two dollars.”

                Dean hands over two bills and takes back the tube, along with a his receipt, smiling at Lew in thanks. “So, what year is your T-bird?”

                “Fifty Seven.”

                Dean whistles. “Damn—that was a beauty of year. You’re a lucky man.”

                Lew almost seems to glow—his mustache twitching up with his hidden grin. “What are you drivin’, son?”

                “Sixty Seven, Impala. She was my dad’s—now she’s _my_ baby.”

                “All original?”

                “Kept everything I could, or found replacement parts that were from the same year.”

                “Atta’boy! Too many young folks want to put TVs and computers into their cars these days. I never understood it, so it’s nice to see some of the younger generation still got some sense.”

                “Yes, sir. The day you see a TV in my baby, is the day I'm dead … and even then, I may just come back and haunt someone if they even _think_ of it.”

                “Well if you got a kid, you need to raise ‘em to respect her just like your daddy did, _you_.”

                Dean huffs a little and blushes. “No kids for me … not yet, anyway.”

                “Little lady in the picture?”

                Lew _is_ just like Bobby, old—grumpy, and nosey as all hell. “Not anymore.”

                Another strange face morphs at his right and Dean turns his head to look back at Castiel, directly now, but the man quickly turns away—obviously not wanting Dean to focus on him.

_What a weird, little dude._

                “Well, you’re a handsome fella. I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding a pretty little thing to settle down with one day. Don’t be like me and only find _your cars_ pretty. Women tend to not like comin’ in second place to a muffler.”

                Dean grins wide—remembering how much Lisa used to gripe at him for spending so much time in the garage. “Ain’t that the truth.”

                “Well, you best get back out there before someone decides that they want to add a classic car to their rap sheet. Not too many hooligans 'round here, but the few we got wouldn’t think twice.”

                That wipes the grin off Dean’s face quick—and soon, he’s shaking Lew’s hand once more and speeding back to the tow truck, with Castiel trailing just behind him.

***

                The drive back seems twice as long and Dean doesn’t like this panic he’s suddenly feeling—he also doesn’t like how quiet Castiel is now. He’s not sure what all the frowning and strange looks were about earlier, but he feels a little guilty, like it was somehow _his fault._

                “You okay?” he finally asks, wanting something to dull the worry playing through his head.

                “Of course. Why wouldn't I be?” Castiel responds, still looking sternly at the road ahead of them.

                “I dunno … you just _uh_ —seem, ya seem _off_.”

                “Off?”

                “Yeah, you seem like something's bothering you.”

                “No. I’m fine.”

                “Fine never means _fine._ ”

                “Why would I not say what I mean?”

                Dean laughs dryly and shakes his head. “Man, I've heard _fine_ too many times in the last eight months and it never meant _fine._ It always meant _pissed off_ or _upset_ or that I fucked up somehow. Then again, that was coming from the chick I was living with, so she had reason to not be _fine._ She did live with _me_ , after all.”

                “Why are you no longer living together?” Castiel asks, quickly closing his eyes for a moment and shaking his head. “I apologize. That is none of my business and I shouldn’t be prying.”

                Dean sighs, reaching out to nudge Castiel’s arm with his fist. “It’s cool, man. I guess … well, I'm not the easiest person to get along with. I’m pretty stubborn, and as you can see—I love my car _a lot._ I suppose she was just tired of always competing with something; whether it was Baby or my own pig-headedness; she was always having to fight. It wasn’t fair, and a girl as great as her deserved better. That’s why I didn’t stop her when she said she wanted to leave. It was the least-selfish I ever was with her. I just hope she doesn’t feel like she wasted _too_ much time with me.”

                “I highly doubt she felt that way.”

                Dean smirks slightly and nudges Castiel again. “Thanks, man—but you don’t even know the half of it. I’m _my father’s_ son, and if you knew him, you’d be questioning whether or not you should drive me the rest of the way back to my car.”

                Castiel lets out a long, slow breath—shoulders slouching a little before he breathes in again. “I obviously didn’t know your father, and you’re right, I don’t even really know _you_. I do know however, that I haven’t spoken this much in a long time, not even to members of my own family. I suppose, if someone can make me feel this at ease, then that someone can’t be as awful as you say.”

                Dean’s arm falls back to his side and he finds himself staring blankly at the lines in Castiel’s face. They’re soft and worried, and etching out a sort of honesty that Dean thinks has to be very rare for the man. That old guilt rushes over him once more—and he doesn’t even know why, but he wants to think better of himself just so this guy won’t have to try and reassure him of it. He doesn’t want to make him have to work like that. “Sorry …” he whispers, not sure what he’s even apologizing for, but feels like it’s very necessary right now.

                “For?”

                “I don’t know … but– _uh_ , it seems like I made things weird somehow.”

                Castiel turns up the corner of his mouth weakly. “Not at all, Dean. I suppose _I_ am the one acting strangely. I am not accustomed to this.”

                “Accustomed to what?” Dean inches a little closer, because Castiel’s voice has lowered, and he wants to be able to hear him over the roar of the engine.

                “Getting along with someone so easily. It would seem that I have grown quite fond of your company in this short amount of time, and I– I know that this is all very childish of me, but I am disheartened that you'll be taking your leave so soon. I … I apologize. _I_ am the one making things _weird_ , as you say.”

                Dean’s cheeks are as red as the lettering on the side of the truck; but he can’t bring himself to look away from the man behind the wheel— even though everything he just said sort of makes him want to jump out and run the rest of the way back to the Impala. It’s a familiar feeling—much like how he felt when his first girlfriend said that she loved him, or when his old teammate in his soccer league told him that all his hugging was “creepy”. It didn’t matter which way things fell. When someone wants to get close to him, or when _he_ wants to get close to someone, his first instinct is to run.

                That’s his first instinct now—but another, _new_ instinct is close on its heels—and that is to _stay._

                “ _Um_ … no, you’re not … you’re not being weird, man. I – I get it. I—”

                “We’re back” Castiel cuts him off, and Dean is not sure if it was merciful or rude, but he’s kind of thankful either way.

                He turns his gaze to look at his baby as Castiel swings the truck around, coming to a stop just in front of her. Everything looks to be intact—no missing parts, no broken glass. The hooligans Lew was warning him against don’t seem to have made it this far out yet, and Dean is eternally grateful. However, he can’t shake the feeling that there should've been just a few more miles before he got back to her. Like he needed a few more miles to talk— to talk and sit with Castiel.

 _Why didn’t she break down sooner?_ It’s an awful thought and it makes him sag with even more guilt.

               

 

                It's just a matter of minutes before the hood to his girl is popped open and the replacement tube is put in. Castiel is pulling a jug of coolant from the back of the truck just as Dean finishes, and Dean is quickly kicking himself yet again.

                “ _Holy shit_ —I can’t believe I forgot to buy more coolant!” he yelps, smacking himself in the forehead and feeling like he should tear apart his _car-guy_ card and take up gardening. Although, no doubt he’d fuck that up too.

                “I knew I had some, that’s why I didn’t remind you of it at Lew’s” Castiel says shortly, making his way back over and scooting past Dean so he can fill up the reservoir.

                 And Dean steps aside to give the man some room—shocked nearly to death that he does so. He _never_ lets anyone touch his car, not even to replace a wiper blade. But, without even a blink—he moved aside for Castiel. And not only that, something about the sight of this man underneath his baby’s hood makes him feel hotter than all the humid air in Missouri.

                “That should be sufficient” Castiel huffs, finally pulling up from the car and twisting the cap back onto the coolant jug. “It would appear you’re ready to continue your journey.”

                Dean nods and smiles pathetically—rubbing roughly at his neck and not feeling good enough to meet Castiel’s eyes. “Yeah … thanks. I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

                “It has been my pleasure, Dean. Really—I have not enjoyed a job this much in a long time.”

                Dean smiles a little more genuinely now, wider still when Castiel leans back against his baby’s grill—an emblem of sorts that Dean never knew existed. “You make the job look good” he says, barely thinking as his eyes trail down the length of Castiel’s body. The man is wiping his hand on the side of his pants, and his hair is slightly messy now, given the evening wind— _all in all_ making the once so-stoic tax accountant, seem to finally fit into his current place in life. All the thoughts buzz loudly in his mind, but Dean’s own words finally ring back above the noise—and he almost wants to punch himself with the realization of what he'd just said. “I mean … _uh_ —you, you do it good. _The job_. You’re good at your job. You are good at the driving and the towing … yeah, _uh_. You’re—you’re just _good_.”

                Castiel is staring at him curiously, his head tilting once again and the blue of his eyes, thinning into slivers. “Thank you, Dean.”

                Dean drops his chin to his chest and stares at his feet. “Yeah … no problem. _Anytime_.”

                Castiel nods and then rounds back to shut the Impala’s hood, doing so quickly and freeing himself to walk back to his truck to replace the bottle of coolant.

                Dean can only stare stupidly, feeling far too awkward and unprepared to say goodbye to the quirky, tow truck driver just yet. Realization hitting him upside the head once again when he remembers—Castiel _is_ a tow truck driver. This is his job, and with it _being_ his job, he probably wants to get paid. “Oh, hey—Cas, hold up!” Dean fishes into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, jogging around to the driver’s side door– open and ready for Castiel to get inside. “Here ...” Dean says in a gasp, holding out a few twenties and clearing his throat. “For all your trouble.”

                Castiel almost seems to grimace at the money. “I told you already, this was my pleasure, Dean.”

                The bills flap helplessly between Dean’s fingers—dead faces beating against his nails. “I know but—”

                “Please don’t worry about it. I was coming back from a pick up anyway. This was a favor.”

                His arm drops down slightly and Dean is at a loss for words—looking away at the long stretch of flat land spanning out around them. He knows the last town he went through was a while back, at the interstate exchange. Cas must've been doing a job far out to be just getting off and back home _now_. He’s not sure why he’s even thinking about it so much, but just the fact that the guy would be heading home after such a long day and _still_ stop to help his ass out, makes him feel even worse than he already does. And he’s not even sure why he feels like this to begin with. “So, you’re not gonna take the money?” he asks finally, giving one last meager shake to the green in his hands.

                Castiel frowns and shakes his head.

                Dean grumbles before shoving the bills back into his wallet. “Well, I—I have to repay you somehow. I’m gonna feel like an ass if I don’t.”

                The other man shifts from one foot to the next and looks into the open cab of his truck, almost longingly. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

                “Wish I wouldn’t repay you, or wish I wouldn’t feel like an ass?”

                “Either.”

                Dean is getting frustrated now. Castiel seems like he’s _trying_ to make this difficult for him. He could have just taken the money and left—or he could have just left and left Dean feeling like a heel. But instead, this whole thing is getting painfully drawn out, and there just doesn’t seem to be a reason for it. “Okay—well, I don’t know what to do then.” Dean looks around hopelessly and then finally, at the ground—toeing a rock with the ridge of his boot.

                “Get in your car—keep driving, and stop worrying about everything so much.”

                Dean stops fiddling with the rock and drags his gaze back up to Castiel—the man _still_ isn’t looking at him, but off to the right now—into the clouds pinking on the horizon. The words he spoke linger heavily in the air and Dean doesn’t understand why they aren’t a giant relief. After all, he practically begged to hear them before—begged Sam to say them. He wanted a blessing, _anyone’s_ blessing—just to tell him it was okay to go and to clear his head of all the crap that’s been weighing him down. But, no one ever said anything other than the reasons why he should _stay_. Those reasons however, only ever made him run quicker to the door. Now—now that he’s finally heard what he’s wanted to hear, he can’t move an inch.

                “It was a pleasure meeting you, Dean Winchester.” Castiel says softly, finally laying his eyes back on him, but Dean hates how dull they seem now.

                “ _Uh_ … yeah, same here, Cas. Th—thanks.” He reaches out his hand one last time and Castiel takes it quickly, although once their fingers touch, Dean doesn’t want to let go.

                But the tow truck driver somehow manages to wriggle free, and with a small huff, he turns and climbs back inside his truck. Dean steps back a pace just as the engine roars over the wind once more, and he barely catches the hint of blue through the window before the rattled, old thing is pulling away. Dean squints against the dusty air whipping at his face—intent on watching the truck disappear down the road—unsure, like he has been damn near this entire day, as to why he wants more than anything for it to turn back around.

 


	2. To-Go

               

_It’s late._

That’s his reasoning. And it _does_ make sense. If he drives through the night, he’ll just have to stop somewhere later on and sleep anyway—then his schedule will be all fucked up and he'll be grumpy all the time and … _yeah_ , it’s already late. So it makes perfect sense to stop now and get in a few hours. It’s not _his_ fault that this is the next closest town. Another one could be miles and miles up the road—he’s being responsible, really.

_Sam would be proud._

Except, he has _no_ rational reason for being parked out in front of Lew’s right now, right beside the ratty old tow truck that brought him here just an hour before. He tries to tell himself that it’s the only place he knows of to ask for directions— _but that's bullshit._ He passed a doze _n_ shops and things probably _full_ of kind people who wouldn’t mind pointing him to the nearest motel. He doesn’t have to ask Lew … _or Cas—ya know? Whoever might be around._ But, he’s already here now and this whole day has been shaped by his own stupid decisions, so—why not one more? It won’t hurt anything.

                Except for … maybe, his pride.

                Dean props open the car door and steps out—glancing around warily, almost as if he’s doing something wrong.  He sets his foot out in front of the other and then immediately pulls it back, questioning if he _really_ needs to ask for directions at all. This town is pretty tiny; everything is probably within spitting-distance from here. Then again, he doesn’t need to waste gas scurrying up and down every single street. He moves forward a bit more and starts to shut the Impala’s door, but then halts— _no,_ he shouldn’t go in. This is weird and awkward, and he _knows it_. The guilty sensation builds within him yet again, so quickly in fact, his knees start to give. _This is dumb._ There is no shame in getting back in the car _right now_ —none at all. No one has seen him have this little two-step with himself, so there is absolutely nothing wrong with him sitting right back down in his baby and moseying along until he finds a god damn motel all on his own.

                “Back so soon, son? Somethin' else didn’t go wrong, did it?”

                Lew’s voice makes Dean flinch hard as he whips around, causing him to smack his elbow into the ridge of the Impala’s door. “ _Fuc_ —” he catches himself, already feeling his mother scolding him from somewhere up in heaven.  “Sorry, sir” he quickly corrects, giving the old man a nod and wincing as he rubs at his throbbing elbow.

                Lew continues walking towards the entrance of his shop—empty trash container in his hand, probably just coming back from tossing the day’s garbage. He smiles and raises his chin—silently willing Dean not to worry about it.

                Dean nods and then continues on. “And— _no_ , my baby is runnin’ just fine. But— _uh_ …” he looks around helplessly, trying to gather himself so he can sound convincing. “I was just wondering if there was any place to stop for the night. It’s late and I don’t want to be drivin’ on fumes.” Another glance around them solidifies the fact that _it is_ just the two of them out here, and Dean is both relieved and disappointed by it.

                “Smart choice. Seen my fair share of travelers crashed into ditches because they fell asleep behind the wheel. In fact, Cas pulled a guy off the edge of I-70 just last Sunday. Wrapped his coupe around a call-box pole because he was too stubborn to take a damn nap.”

                “I certainly don’t want to do that” Dean confirms—steeling himself with the mention of Castiel’s name. Swallowing down the urge to ask where the guy is.

                “I reckon’. Anyhow, there’s Maggie’s Inn about two blocks over on Main Street. Ain’t nothin’ fancy, but it’s clean and quiet. Although, most places ‘round here are at this hour.”

                He hadn’t really been paying much attention until now, but now that Dean thinks about it, he really hasn’t heard a sound since he’s pulled up; the roar of the Impala’s engine being the only disturbance to this place.

                “There's also a bed n' breakfast on the Northern end of town, but they’re a bit pricey if ya ask me—there for the fancy folk headin’ to Nashville.”

                “Well, I sure as shit ain’t fancy.” The swear barely makes it out before Dean bites his lip hard, feeling his mother’s fury once more for not watching his language around this man. _Bobby_ wouldn’t care, but he needs to remember— _this isn’t Bobby._

                Lew gives him a grin—teeth barely peeking out from behind his bushy mustache, and Dean relaxes some. “Then Maggie’s will suit ya just fine. Plus, the bakery next door has the best eats around. I suggest pickin’ up somethin’ before ya head out in the mornin’. You’ll be glad ya did.”

                Dean’s stomach grumbles with the simple prospect of food. He hasn’t eaten since he’d left Lawrence, and all the worrying about his baby ate a generous sized hole in his stomach. Now that all is well, he can focus on just how starved he actually is. “That bakery wouldn’t happen to be open _now_ , would it?” he asks, too famished to care about the new squeak in his voice.

                Lew grins wider. “Just about to close. If ya hurry, you might be able to snag one of the pies they didn’t sell."

                If he wasn’t raised better, Dean would have already been half way up the road before Lew could even finish that sentence, but he waited just long enough to thank the man a couple more times and shake his hand. Lew only laughed and told him to “git” and so he did—speeding two blocks over and turning hard onto Main Street, almost hollering for joy when he saw that red awning with “Anna’s Bakery” printed along the edge, the lights still on and shining through the windows. He parks on the curb outside and rushes into the place—completely out of breath and almost crazed.

_There's still pie._

                Pie and muffins, and it also smells like they had a BBQ going at some point—and has he mentioned, _pie?_ Dean scurries to the curved glass display case and presses his nose against it, looking at all the beautiful, golden lattice tops. Speckles of sugar crest each one and the smell is swirling up to meet his nostrils with fanfair and confetti. He thinks that he very well might be in love—and her name is Apple Caramel Swirl, if the little name-card in front of the tin is anything to go by.

                “Good Evening, Sir. Anything look interesting?”

                A sweet, feathery voice finally pulls him away and Dean tears his gaze from the glass—only to be stopped still by yet _another_ beauty. The young woman is thin and fair, with red hair almost matching the awning outside. Her eyes are large and shining, and Dean has a hard time figuring out what words even are when she blinks at him expectantly from across the counter.

                “I … _uh_ …”

                “-would like some pie?” the young woman leads, nodding softly towards the case.

                “God, yes!” Dean moans—immediately grimacing with embarrassment. He should know better than to try and talk when beautiful girls and beautiful pies are so fucking close together.

                But the young woman only smiles prettily at him before gliding over to open the display case from the back. “Would you like just one slice?”

                Dean takes a steadying breath, collecting himself so that he doesn’t spew out any more idiocy onto this establishment's shiny, clean floor. “ _Um_ , would it look bad if I asked for the whole thing?”

                “Not unless you don’t plan on paying for it” the lovely red-head coolly returns.

                Dean chuckles. “In that case, I’ll take two.”

                “Sounds good to me! I saw you were looking at the apple, is that the one you want?”

                “And the cherry too, please … if it’s not too much trouble.”

                “No trouble—again, unless you don’t plan on paying.”

                “For pie? There is no price tag too large.”

                “A man after my own heart” the girl sings, pulling out and steadying both pies on her hand and wrist— and immediately spinning round to set them onto the counter behind her.

                Dean watches, impressed with how fluid she makes every little movement seem.

                “So—are you just passing through?” The girl asks after she gets the to-go boxes propped up and ready for the pies.

                “I will be. I think I’m gonna grab a room next door before I head out, though. I just need some pie, a shower and a good night’s sleep … then I’m on the road again.”

                Golden eyes shine back at him over a pale shoulder, covered with just a tank top and an apron string. “That sounds pretty nice, if you ask me. I’m a little envious.”

                “You lookin’ to get outta here or somethin’?” Dean purrs, propping a cocky elbow onto the edge of the glass display,  while displaying a pretty grin all his own. He may have been a complete fuck up twenty three hours of this day, but at least during the last one, he can get something right, and sweeping a good lookin’ woman off her feet feels all sorts of _right_ right now.

                The tiniest smirk dances upon the girl’s face, but it may as well be a missile with how badly it shoots him down.

_Battin’ zero today, Winchester._

                “No, I happen to like it _here_ —just, a relaxing evening like that sounds nice. Getting up at four in the morning  _every morning_ to bake all this isn’t always a joy.”

                Dean shakes off the rejection quickly; after all, it’s not like it’s the _worst thing_ that’s happened today. “I can imagine. Nothing should even exist before seven a.m.”

                Two pristine boxes with a plastic fork taped to the top of the stack, are soon slid in front of him by a pair delicate hands. “If that was the case, _these pies_ wouldn’t exist.”

                Dean shutters. “Okay, _some things_ should exist before seven.”

                The girl smiles at him again—so sweet, it probably gives all these goodies a run for their money. “I’m Anna, by the way.”

                “Dean” he says while reaching out and sliding the boxes eagerly towards himself. _Pie won’t reject me. Pie heals everything._ “How much do I owe ya?”

                The girl looks around a moment, as if to see if anyone is listening. “These … they’re on the house. Wasn’t looking like I was going to sell them anyway.”

                “ _No, no, no_ … you’re sellin’ ‘em to me _right_ _now_ and I’m paying for ‘em. After all, that's what's makin' it okay that I buy two, remember?”

                Anna huffs playfully. “Well, looks like I changed my mind.”

                Dean furiously shakes his head, pulling out his wallet and quickly digging inside to retrieve some money—having some heavy _deja vu_ when it isn’t taken from him.

                “Nope, these ones are a gift. Let’s call this— _good luck_ for your travels.”

                Dean scoffs. “ _Luck?_ Luck don’t like _me._ I ain’t even havin' luck with people taking my money right now.”

                Anna tilts her head— bright eyes squinting down curiously, and Dean feels that _deja vu_ yet again. “That should be luck in and of itself, shouldn’t it?”

                “You’d think, but _no_ ” Dean grumbles. “Can I _please_ pay you? It’d make me feel better.”

                “Nope” she says with a wicked gleam.

                “Really?” he pushes, thinking that all his charm must've been left back in Kansas … or, in Lew’s shop, because _that_ guy is about the only one around here who is willing to let him have his way.

                “Yep, _really_. I am very stubborn and I’ve made up my mind.”

                Dean sighs and shoves the money back into his wallet for the _second time_ today—old presidents just as rejected as he's been. “The people in this town must be very, very broke.”

                Anna laughs and scrunches up her nose. “Why do you say that?”

“Nobody gets rich off _generosity_.” Dean frowns,  until he feels soft fingers glide over the hand he has resting atop the pie box. He peeks from beneath his scowl to see Anna leaning in closer, staring him down intently.

                “It sounds to me, Dean—like you need to reevaluate your definitions for things.”

                His breath catches a little with the warmth radiating from her palm.

                “Now, you have a good night—and enjoy that pie.”

                The next few minutes blur together—a flurry of _thanks_ and hunger and absolute confusion with what that girl was even talking about. What was _anyone_ talking about anymore? Why were things so confusing today, in _this place_ , with _these_ _people?_ The questions swirled in his mind so hard, he’s amazed that he even managed to make it over to the motel to book a room without falling flat on his face; but after a while more, he found himself sitting on the edge of a springy bed, open pastry box on his lap—wondering if he’s ever felt more upturned in his life.

***

                The phone rings softly against his ear as Dean lies on the bed—rubbing his stuffed belly with his free hand, staring up all the while at the dingy, popcorn ceiling. _Lew was right,_ the place is pretty clean. The bedding smells like bleach—which is _always_ a comfort, and besides the rust ringing the bathroom fixtures, everything else looks freshly scrubbed. He has certainly stayed in _worse_ places, and a good night’s rest actually seems plausible now that his _germ-alarms_ have been silenced.

                The phone rings twice more and he almost hangs up.

                “Dean?”

                His brother’s voice sounds surprised, and it makes him smile. “Yeah, who were expectin', the Pope?”

                Sam scoffs and Dean can practically see the guy’s bitchy expression as he breathes into the receiver. “I was expecting _him_ before you. What’s wrong?”

                “Nothing. Why does somethin' have to be wrong?”

                _Another scoff._ “Dean, you stormed out of here like I’d just the Impala to a Prius. I wasn’t expecting you to call me for at least a couple weeks—so, you calling me _the same night_  you left? _Yeah_ , something _has_ to be wrong.”

                Dean rolls his eyes and stretches out his body across the mattress—trying to stay relaxed. That pie did wonders for his mood and he doesn’t need his baby brother’s bitchiness to ruin it now. “Well, guess you don’t know me as well as ya think there, Sammy.”

                “I know you _too_ well, Dean.”

                _That might be true._ “Whatever. Anyway, nothin’ is wrong—just thought I’d call and check in.”

                A long pause precedes his brother’s unwaivered concern. “ _Okay_ … “ but thankfully, Sam seems to be playing along. “Well, things are fine here. Where are you?”

                “Little town called Huntsville.”

                “Missouri?”

                “How do you know these things?”

                “I know my geography, Dean.”

                Dean laughs. “Yeah, I know geography too—but not all the _podunk_ towns in America.”

                A third, more frustrated scoff fills his ears. “ _Whatever_ —why are you only a couple hundred miles away? I’d think you’d almost be to Georgia by now.”

                “I’m headed north, ya idiot.”

                “Oh—well good to _finally_ know. You didn’t tell me _shit_ when you rushed outta here.”

                _Smartass._ Dean rolls his eyes again. “Well, don’t say I never gave you anything.”

                “Yeah, a real thoughtful present— _your whereabouts. Now ..._ answer my question … why are you only in Missouri? Are you changing your mind? Are you coming back? Is that why you’re calling me? I told you that this was all a big mista—”

                “Woah, woah, woah! I ain’t changing my mind. There ain’t nothin’ for me in Lawrence. You know that.”

                “Ain’t nothing but your family—friends, _all your stuff_.”

                Dean grumbles. “You know what I mean. _Anyway …_ Baby lost all her coolant about two hours in and I had to get her fixed up before I could move on. By the time I did, _it was late_ —so I stopped here to sleep and regroup. No big deal.”

                “You … you _didn’t_ tune up the car before you left?” The shock in Sam’s voice refuels that guilt that Dean hadn’t been able to shake all day; but that the pie had at least toned down some.

                “ _Shut_ _up_.”

                “I—I just can’t believe that you were in _such a damn hurry_ to leave, that you didn’t even take care of the one thing that you love most in this world.”

                And with that,  the guilt floods him over—not only because Sam is reopening _that_ wound, but also because the  kid thinks that Dean loves his baby more than _him_. The two are _close_ in his opinion _,_ but if push came to shove, Sam would win every time— _no question._ “I …” Dean doesn’t know how to even respond now. All the _happy_ that the pie brought him is long gone.

                “I’m sorry” Sam cuts in with a sigh—and the pitch of his voice makes him sound younger than he is, almost like he’s that gangly teenager that Dean once had to drive around town for library books, and protect from bullies.

                “Me too” Dean mutters back, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingertips.

                “I know that these last few months have sucked pretty bad—and, and I probably haven’t been there for you as much as I should’ve.   _Just_ … with the new job and Jess, and the baby …”

                “ _Nah_ , man … don’t apologize. You're the only reason I stuck around as long as I did after Lisa left. I … I appreciate you trying. _I do_.”

                “You can still turn around, Dean. You can still come back. I can help you get the shop back together. I got some new friends at work that could help you out with the finances. We could get you back on your feet.”

                Dean rubs his face harder.  _No_ , he’s not going to depend on his _baby_ brother. He’s not going to be another thing for him to have to worry about. _Sam has enough on his plate._ “I—I can’t, Sammy. I need to stick with somethin’ for a change, and I can stick with _this_.”

                “But you don’t even know what _this_ is! You’re just driving until you fall into the ocean, Dean! That isn’t a life-plan!”

                “It’s gonna have to be, kid.” Dean is surprised by his own tone—it’s calm and level. Maybe he’s just too exhausted from this day to fight anymore.

                “ _Dean_ …”

                “Sam, ya gotta let me do this, okay? I don’t want to feel like I can’t talk to you.  You gotta be okay with this so I still got someone on my side.”

                Sam sighs and Dean can hear the moment he finally breaks. “You know I'm  _always_ on your side, Dean.”

                “It’s the only thing I can count on, man. Even Baby has had it with me, I think.”

                Sam laughs a little and Dean smiles with the sound. “So what the hell happened? Is she okay?”

                Dean grins. “Yeah, she’s all good now. She had a leak in the main coolant line so she overheated.”

                “No permanent damage?”

                “No, thank god! I was actually pretty lucky—only a few minutes after I pulled off the side of the highway, a tow truck happened by.”

                “That _is_ lucky.”

                Even though he said it first, Sam repeating it back to him makes him finally start to realize how true it is. He _was_ lucky today. Things could've been a lot worse if Cas didn’t just happen to be heading home right then. “Yeah, and the guy drivin’ the thing was hilarious. Like—not only was he funny, but he was this weird little businessman-lookin’ dude.  Like, I _shit-you-not,_ Sam … he was wearing dress shoes.”

                “And he was driving a tow-truck?”

                “Yeah … and that’s his full time job! He said he just likes to _dress_ _professional._ ”

                “ _Huh_ —well, I guess that’s not too weird. He could have been a nudist.”

                Dean grins.

_That wouldn’t have been that bad either._

                His eyes widen and he sputters with the sudden, invading thought. Sputtering more when he accidently inhales some spit into his lungs and he has to sit up to cough it out.

                “You okay?” Sam asks, laughing slightly at his brother’s fit.

                “Fi—fine” Dean wheezes.

                “Sorry—didn’t mean to give you a bad mental image.”

                “No image!” Dean nearly shrieks, smacking himself in the head because— _that wasn’t smooth at all._ “I mean … I—I wasn’t thinking about _that_. I _uh_ —I'm eating some pie … inhaled a crumb.”

                “Where did you get pie at this hour?” Sam asks and Dean breathes a sigh of relief with the change of subject.

                “There’s a bakery next door. I caught it just before they closed.”

                “Any good?”

                Dean practically moans. “Sammy—it is hands down, _the best_ pie I have ever had.”

                Sam chuckles. “Better than mom’s?”

                And Dean groans at that— _even more guilt._ “No …” he sighs, feeling sad now on top of everything else. “But she didn’t make pie, she made _art_.”

                His baby brother hums in understanding and Dean hunches forward, propping his elbows onto his knees while pressing the phone closer to his ear. “I wish she was still around … I feel like things would be different if she was”

                “Of course they’d be different.” Sam says—a little too sternly and it makes Dean a kind of mad. “But we can’t change any of that. I wish we could— _more than anything,_ I do; but we can’t”

                “I know …”

                “Don’t … don’t dwell on it. We both saw what that did to Dad. Don’t dwell on all this bad stuff, Dean. It’ll only drive you crazy.”

                “That’s why I had to get away, Sam. I could—I felt myself turning into him.”

                Sam sighs and Dean regrets his words instantly. “You are a lot like him … but you’re like the _old_ him, before we lost mom. He was fun and he worked his ass off, and he always tried to teach us the right thing. Remember that?”

                Dean smiles softly—thinking about all the times his dad had sat him down at the table to lecture him on what he _should_ or _shouldn’t_ do.

_Don’t bully kids—just outsmart them ._

_Always give more than you take. Don’t owe anyone anything._

_If you’re gonna fight, make sure you can win._

                Their dad is his hero … well, _he was._

                “You took over all that once he left … I—I never thanked you for that, but _thank you, Dean._ You kept my head above water.”

                “Shut up, Sammy” Dean mumbles … not knowing what else to say and hating how choked up his voice already sounds.

                Sam laughs. “ _Jerk_.”

                “ _Bitch._ ”

***

                He woke up sometime around three a.m. Eyes wide and wondering why the hell he’s not still asleep. And not only that, but why the hell is he _so fucking hard?_  His tented boxers point at the roof like a rocket, and Dean knows that it won’t take much of a countdown for this thing to blast off.

                He groans.

                Normally, he would have no problem with giving himself the old _low-five_ , but he’s still exhausted—even if his body _does_ seem to be wide awake. With some grumbling and some final calming breaths, he reaches beneath his waistband to give himself some quick relief—but as he starts to stroke, all the day’s worries begin to come back to him.  _His car. Where the hell he plans on going after this._ _His conversation with Sam … why he got so excited when Sam joked about Cas being a nudist._

_That was weird._

A jolt rushes through him and scurries up his already excited dick, but his damn brain has other plans—covering everything with a nice coat of _awkward_ so that relief becomes even harder to find.

                Dean groans again.

                He tries to think about something else—the good old _go-to’s_ when he’s got a firm grip on little-Dean. He thinks of the busty beauties that were in the last porn he watched, but that doesn’t seem to do anything now but annoy him, because he can’t remember the details—like what each girl was wearing or what the plot of the porn actually was.

_It’s a fucking porn … plot doesn’t matter!_

                But apparently, _it does_ —no matter how much he tells himself otherwise.

                His mind then wanders to more familiar things—things he would have a hard time forgetting, even if he wanted to. The smell of Lisa’s hair floods his memory, and the way her big brown eyes would smile at him in the morning. As much as the thoughts make his heart swell, they also do nothing but roil the guilt in his gut even more. She doesn’t deserve to be remembered for reasons like _this._ She is far too good … _always has been._

                Dean stops mid-stroke and attempts to collect himself once again.

                He needs to think about something else so he can get this over with and get back to sleep.

                One of the empty pie boxes catches his eye and soon—he recalls the cute baker next door with the long pale fingers and the big, golden eyes. Another, _more welcome_ rush of excitement rushes though him—the thought of those fingers touching him, rubbing him all over … those big eyes looking him up and down as he climbs over Anna’s body.

                He speeds up his strokes, arching slightly as his imagination begins to work into overdrive.

                He sees himself kiss up her long slender neck and he can almost feel the warmth as he pushes into her.

                _And then Anna smirks._

                That same sly, sarcastic, _not-in-a million-years-buddy_ , smirk.

                “Fuck!” Dean growls, punching the mattress with the side of his fist.

_I just want to get off!_

But just like everything else today, it’s _not_ working for him—well, everything hasn’t worked, except for Cas. Castiel was just about the only one who made him feel truly _better,_ both figuratively and literally. Dean thinks once more about that strange man in the white button up with bright blue eyes and too-clean shoes.

                He thinks about how strange it was that as the day went on, the guy didn’t seem that strange at all.

                He thinks about the small smiles he pulled out of the man, and the wry sense of humor that made him crack up harder than he has in months.

                He thinks about the stern way Cas drove, but the relaxed way he explained things.

                He thinks about how good the man looked with his hands on the Impala—getting comfortable beneath her hood—getting to know her, _getting dirty with her._

                Dean comes into his fist with a shout—wheezing and wondering about _what the hell_ he just did.

                “Fuck …” he mutters again, looking down at himself and his drooping, but happy dick.

                _That was not how this was supposed to go._

                He drags his other arm over his face and curses some more into the crook of his elbow.

He _needs_ to get it together.

***

                The bakery smells even more amazing now than it did last night, and Dean is kind of angry about that. If it didn’t smell so damn good, he could have willed himself past it and gone back to the Impala. After the epic-fail that was his jerk-off session, and after the epic-fail that was his attempt at flirting, all topping his epic-fail of a day, he didn’t really feel like facing that sweet-faced red head all over again.

                But _fuck_ —if those muffins didn’t smell like heaven.

                The door swings open and the tiny bell on the hinge jingles, letting all those inside know that he’s entering. Dean blushes slightly as thirty sets of eyes turn to take him in—mostly old folk, all here for their morning coffee and gossip.

                “ _Ah_ —I was wondering if I’d see you again. How was the pie?”

                Anna’s voice surprises him from behind, and he wonders if _everyone_ in this town is taught to sneak up on people. “Oh— _uh_ , yeah. It was freakin'  _amazing_. Best pie I’ve had in a long, long time.”

                Anna smiles, big and beautiful and Dean grins back whole heartedly. “I’m so glad.” She then slips past him, holding onto some dishes as she moseys back behind the counter. “Are you heading out now?”

                Dean nods and follows her, stopping once more in front of the register. “Yeah—but I had to come in and get some of these muffins. They smell awesome.”

                “Blueberry is my best-seller. Want a few?”

                “Will you actually let me pay for them this time?”

                Anna gives him a wink that he thinks would've been more helpful to him last night. “I suppose I can let you—just this once.”

                Dean laughs. “Alright, two muffins and your biggest cup of coffee, please.”

                Anna punches a few things into the register and then beams at him once more. “Comin’ right up!” She soon turns around and begins busying herself with the coffee machine—pulling a large travel cup off the stack on the shelf.

                And as she works,  Dean decides to treat himself to a peek at her perky posterior, figuring it couldn’t hurt since he'll probably never see this chick again, anyway. _Extra snacks for later._

                “ _Dean?_ ”

                Dean jerks back—face burning red and hands shaking, feeling the same way he did when his mom found his Playboys in the back of his closest.

                Castiel is staring at him with that same curious look, and Dean would laugh—if he could only work his racing heart out of his throat.

                _Seriously, these people should all wear bells!_

                “Cas?” he breathes, bending over and bracing himself on the counter. “Jesus … _will you quit doin' that?”_

                “Apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

                “I’m not so sure anymore!”

                 But that just makes Castiel tilt his head further.

                “What the hell are you doing here, anyway?” Dean asks, finally catching his breath as he straightens back out.

                “I _always_ come here. This is where I eat breakfast.”

                 That makes Dean look around for a second, trying to imagine this man sitting at one of the small tables—probably with a plate of toast and half a grapefruit or some bullshit like that. It’s actually not so hard to picture at all, and before he knows it _, Dean is smiling._

                “What _I_ am curious about …” Castiel’s words snap Dean out of his daydream. “is why _you’re_ here, and why you were looking at my sister’s hind quarters?

                Dean’s eyes slowly widen—realization rushing over him like an icy river.

                “ _Sister?_ ”

                Anna’s hand appears in front of his face, holding the large cup of coffee—steaming and dark, much like Castiel’s eyes at this moment. “Yep, I’m his sister.”

                Dean drags his head to the left, feeling his cheeks burn once more. He shakily takes the coffee from her, trying hard to ensure that their fingers don’t accidently touch.

                She giggles and gives him _that_ _smirk_ again.

                _Fuck._

“So …” she chirps, grinning as she glances over to Castiel. “How do you know my brother?”


	3. Mistake

                “ _Don’t_ change the subject, Anna” Castiel warns, never tearing his eyes away from Dean’s, glaring at him fiercely – jaw locking on every word. “Why were you looking inappropriately at my sister?”

                “Oh, _Castiel_ ” Anna hums, all the while, smiling fondly towards her brother.

                Dean’s mouth flaps stupidly, but nothing comes out.

                “ _Well?_ ”

                “ _Uh_ …” he finally manages, but it doesn’t seem to help since the man only steps closer to him—dark and daring.

                “I’m _waiting_.” The once-so-quirky tow truck driver is now anything _but_ —shoulders squared and hands fisted, vibrating with menace.

                “Dude, I  ... I wasn’t— _I didn’t_ —” Dean whips his head back towards Anna. “ _Tell him!_ ”

                The pretty girl says nothing, only giggling behind her soft hand as she watches the scene unfold in front of her.

                “ _I saw you,_ Dean. I _know_ what I saw and I _don’t_ appreciate it” Castiel growls, leaning in—making Dean have to lean back to keep from inhaling his fire.

                _This dude is fucking terrifying!_ Dean has been in a lot of fights against a lot of big, creepy fuckers—but he was never scared like _this_ ; maybe because he knew that _they_ were asking for whatever was coming … or _he_ was asking for it. Either way, the fight was called for; but Cas looks like he’s about to take him to the ground and Dean doesn’t want it to come to that. He glances back at Anna yet again—silently pleading with her to help get him out of this.

                “ _Cas_ … “ she finally chuckles, reaching out to nudge the guy’s shoulder—but Castiel doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink. “C’mon. It’s fine—he’s harmless.”

                “How do you know?” Castiel grumbles, still staring straight into Dean’s soul.

                “Because, when he was here last night—”

                “ _Last night?_ ” The man’s furious blue eyes tear away now to stare down his sister. “He was here _last night?_ ”

                Dean’s heart quickly climbs back to the base of his tongue, taking a familiar post in order to watch how this all plays out. _Shit … shit, shit, shit!_

The angry eyes soon return to him, more heated than ever. “Why were you with my sister _last night?_ ”

                “I—I …”

                “ _Oh stop it, Castiel_ —” Anna snaps, “he was just buying some pie” and her words give Castiel pause, just as he is drawing up to the balls of his feet so he could be nose to nose with Dean. “I mean—he only flirted with me _a little bit_.”

                Dean’s eyes burst as he snaps over to gawk at her. “ _Not helping!_ ” he yelps, snapping back just as Castiel reaches out to grab his shoulder.

                He can hear Anna erupting into a fit of giggles now, and Dean fleetingly thinks he misjudged her sweetness—misjudged it _horribly_.

                “You _do not_ disrespect my family” the man rumbles, yanking Dean roughly towards him.

                “ _Shit!_ ” Dean squawks, out loud this time,  pushing Castiel back with the heels of his hands. “ _I didn’t!_ ”

                “Okay! Alright! Castiel, _stop!_ ” Anna appears at their other side somehow, shoving her arms in between them to try and break them apart. “That’s _enough!_ ” she hollers again, glaring Castiel down with ferocity– and after one more begrudged shake, he finally lets Dean go.

                Dean practically falls over with relief.

                “Now, I was just fooling around. Dean was a perfect gentleman, okay? He may have gotten a little … _cute_ , but it was nothing you would even think twice about. And as for _where_ he was looking just now—I’m sure it was at something else.” She whips back over and locks her eyes on Dean with urgency. “ _Right?_ ”

                “ _Uh_ —” Dean stammers, still reeling and struck stupid from the last few minutes.

                “See?” Anna cuts in again, turning back to her brother. “Now you need to _calm down_. You’re not my guardian and I _don’t_ need you protecting me.”

                 All at once, Castiel seems to deflate, eventually hanging his head low and nodding in response.

                With that,  Anna finally drops her arms and huffs contentedly. “ _Good_. Now, _apologize_ to this man.”

                “My apologies, Dean— I … I must have misinterpreted the situation.”

                Dean blinks blankly. “ _Uh …_ ”

                “ _Good_.” Anna repeats and then pins a bright smile onto her face. “I’m glad everything is settled. Now, _Dean?_ You better take your coffee—it’s getting cold.”

                Dean stares at Castiel a little longer, amazed at how small the guy seems now—when only a second ago, he was larger than this whole room.

                “Dean?” Anna calls to him another time,  now from back behind the counter.

                “ _Huh?_ Oh—yeah … sorry.” Dean grabs the coffee and peeks to his right to watch Castiel. A tiny hint of blue latches onto him a moment, but then it's gone.

                “Your muffins too.”

                Dean nods and takes the bag of muffins, finally turning to face her completely. “How much?”

                “Three fifty.”

                The air feels heavy  as he pulls out his wallet to grab a twenty dollar bill, and Dean hates the way it’s making everyone seem to droop. Being watched by over a dozen eyes isn’t helping either—every person in this place has pulled up a chair for the show; a show starring their resident _good guy_ , the sweet damsel in distress, and _Dean_ — _the villain_. He’s the outsider after all. It doesn’t matter if it was a mistake or not, they all don’t like him now, he _feels_ it; and he feels awful about it. Dean pauses, holding back the money just before Anna has a chance to take it from him. “What does Castiel usually order?”

                The question pulls an odd look over the girl’s face like a veil. “Three pancakes, bacon and coffee … _why?_ ”

                Dean has to chuckle with just how wrong he was earlier. “Okay, I’m paying for his breakfast, too.” It’s distinct— the moment Castiel sets his eyes on him, but Dean doesn’t acknowledge.

                “What?” the man’s rusty voice creaks up from behind him.

                “ _Um_ …” Anna starts with a laugh. “He doesn’t normally _pay_ — since he’s my brother and all.”

                Dean pushes the money towards her, dutifully.  “Well, he’s paying today. Besides, _I owe him_.”

                “No you don’t. _I told you_ —that was a favor.” Castiel places his hand on Dean’s shoulder once again, but this time, it’s gentler—fingers squeezing lightly as he turns him so they can speak face to face.

                But Dean slips free, only giving the man a passing glance. “ _Yeah_ —well, you can call this a favor too, then.

                “No … Anna, _do not_ accept his payment” Castiel demands.

                “Sorry, little brother, but I got a business to run.” She promptly plucks the twenty out of Dean’s grasp, sliding it into the register and handing him back his few dollars in change.

                “ _Woah_ , wait … _little_ brother?” Dean gasps, gawking a moment before taking the money.

                “Yeah—I know, right? You’d think he’s _ages_ older than me with the way he acts.” The girl grins between them both, finally giving Castiel a wink.

                “You are only _a year_ my senior” he grumbles but Anna just waves him off before turning to get to work on his meal.

                He laughs at the two—unable to stop himself from thinking of Sam. Dean knows he’s shared the look that Castiel now has on his face—all the times people assumed that Sam was the older one; all because the guy is apparently part _tree-person_ and grew _three stories_ above the norm. Dean smiles wider, missing his goofy, _not-so-little_ brother and all the good times they’ve had; yet, his smile slowly drops as he realizes the _comedic relief_ in this completely awkward threesome has just left to go heat up the griddle. He clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck, bashfully directing his attention fully onto Castiel.

                “I … I _am_ sorry, Dean. You didn’t have to purchase my breakfast, especially after my embarrassing display. _I_ should be the one treating _you_ to a free meal.”

                With a shake of his head, Dean relaxes some. _This guy …_ “ _Nah_ , man … since the second you met me, I’ve been a major pain in your ass. I needed to try and make up for it somehow.”

                “You haven’t been a …” Castiel blushes a little, stopping himself and then looking around the restaurant.

                Dean does the same, taking in at long last all the eager eyes of their audience.

                “If we are going to continue conversing, we should sit down” Castiel mutters, glaring harshly at an old woman with poofy, curled hair; and by the ugly twist to her mouth, Dean imagines that she _isn’t_ a friendly individual.

                “ _Uh_ , yeah … sure thing.” Dean is soon following Castiel across the bakery until they come to the last booth in the back. He waits for the other man to slide in before he sits down himself. The two of them stay silent for several breaths, both waiting for the townsfolk to return to their meals and give them some much needed peace. One last sneaky sweep finally puts them in the free and clear. “So …”

                “Why are you still in town?” Castiel jumps in—going zero to sixty in _no time,_ and startling Dean with just how stern he sounds.

                “Oh … _uh_ …”

                “Not that—I’m sorry, _of course_ , it is your right to be here if you want to be here. I – I suppose I'm just curious since, well, since you seemed so eager to _go_.”

                Dean softens with the sight of the other man becoming a puddle on the opposite side of the booth. He’s thankful that _he_ doesn’t seem to be the only one who sticks his foot in his mouth on a regular basis. “It’s fine. It was just, _uh_ ... late by the time I got my baby all checked out, so I just snagged a room for the night. The motel happens to be next door to _here, so .._. I was hungry, and _well_ , you know the rest.”

                Castiel nods and gives Dean a small smile. “That explains quite a bit.”

                “Why? What did you think I was still doin’ here?” Dean asks, screwing up his face in question.

                The color of Castiel’s cheeks begins to tint, making Dean hold back a chuckle as the man now tries his hardest to climb into the collar of his shirt—which Dean is _just now_ realizing, _isn’t_ a white button up, but actually a light blue polo. And if he’s not mistaken, the guy is also wearing jeans—very nice, neat, well-pressed jeans, but jeans all the same. It is still probably too dressy for a casual breakfast at his sister’s bakery, but it is _far more_ appropriate in regards to the situation than what Dean _first_ saw him in.

                “I—I wasn’t thinking _anything_ “ Castiel mumbles, fumbling his thumbs together before drawing his hands into his lap.

                It sounds like—and most likely _is_ a lie, but Dean doesn’t have any right to press the guy on it since he still doesn’t really even know him; even though in the last twenty four hours, he has had more ups and downs with this man than he normally has with anyone in a course of a year.

                They both fall quite yet again, glancing about their booth, expertly avoiding each other’s eyes. They probably could have continued doing all this for the rest of eternity if Anna didn’t pick that moment to bring Castiel his coffee.

                “You boys playing nice?”

                “We’re not children, Anna” Castiel chides, sliding up one of the overturned mugs from the far end of the table—flipping it round so Anna can fill it up.

                The girl just rolls her eyes as she pours. “Could’ve fooled me.”

                Dean huffs in amusement, which gets him another heated glare from the man across the table, but this time—it’s more _cute_ than menacing.

                “Do you need me to top that off?” Anna turns to Dean and gestures with the coffee pot towards the to-go cup, still being firmly clutched in his hand.

                Dean looks down at it, almost surprised to see it there. He’s been so busy looking at Castiel, he's forgotten all about his drink … _and_ his muffins.  “ _Oh_ … no thanks. I’m good” he says with a laugh, lifting the cup up towards her in thanks.

                She nods curtly and then ping pongs back and forth between them. “So—you still never told me how you two met.”

                Dean pauses, waiting to see if Castiel will answer her—but the man just looks to the other side of the booth, apparently fascinated with a picture of an old farm house that’s hanging on the wall. _Figures._ “ _Uh_ —well, my baby—I mean, my _car_ , broke down  yesterday, and Cas just happened to be driving by. He gave me a lift into town to pick up a part so I could fix her up.”

                “ _Hmm_ ” Anna hums, in a way that makes Dean think she has a lot more she _could_ say, but is holding back.

                “ _Yep_ ” Dean pops awkwardly, giving her an innocent smile.

                The girl stares at them a while longer, eyes finally resting atop her brother’s turned head.

                The other man must have felt her looking at him because the veins in his neck begin to strain, and he seems pained when he ultimately gives in and turns back to glare at her. “Is there anything else, Anna?”

                His sister grins at him—in that evil way that _all_ siblings somehow master. “ _Nope._ Nothing at all.”

                “Then why are you still standing here?”

                Anna shrugs but stays put—still grinning, _still staring._

                If Dean had a thermometer, he could measure Castiel’s rising frustration more accurately, but by the reddening of the guy’s face, his estimation is probably pretty good.  “I could use …” he breaks in—breaking the tension, and his words snap Anna’s attention over to his side of the booth, “a plate for these muffins—since it looks like I’ll be eating them here after all.” He reaches beside him and holds up the paper bag, as if to prove that’s _really_ what he needs, even though he’s sure that _she knows,_ he’s just trying to save Castiel from this torture.

                Castiel peers at him—red diminishing, a soft glow taking its place as he mouths _thank you_.

                Dean nods and tosses him a wink—stomach flipping when he realizes that now, he’s _winking_ at this dude.   _Jesus Christ._

                Anna rolls her eyes again but she doesn't comment and then finally walks away, and Dean is pretty sure he heard her call them both _dorks—_ but he can’t be certain.

                “Your sister seems like a handful.” Dean laughs, turning back from watching her go, only to see Castiel sipping slowly on his coffee; and he finally decides to do the same with his own ... and _damn_ , is it ever some good coffee!

                “You don’t even know the half of it” Castiel murmurs, after swallowing all his sips.

                “That bad, _huh_?”

                Castiel lifts up an eyebrow and exhales, _long_ and _slow_. “Let’s just say—it's good that you _weren’t_ flirting with her. You perhaps, saved yourself a lot of agony.”

                Dean barks out a laugh that he knows got them a dozen more curious stares from the other patrons in this place, but he doesn’t care. He’s starting to feel _good_ again, like he did yesterday, when he was back in that tow truck—sitting right beside Castiel. “ _Oh man …_ I guess I should be relieved that she shot me down.”

                Castiel stops amid another sip and gives Dean a curious once-over. “So, you _did_ flirt with my sister.”

                _Shit_. “ _Uh_ …”

                But Castiel quickly lifts a flattened palm to the air—silencing Dean before he can dig himself in any further; not that he can really think of anything to say anyway. “It’s alright, Dean. I understand that Anna is … _appealing_ to many men. I suppose I can’t fault you for being interested.” He looks back down at his mug a moment, and Dean feels like he might be able to breathe, but then Castiel locks onto him again, blue cold and piercing. “As long as you were indeed, _respectful_ like she said.”

                Dean stammers on silence a second more—twisting against the cobalt daggers dragging their tips across his skin. “Yeah … _totally_. I was— totally respectful. _I swear_.” He holds up one hand as the other slips across his heart, and he leans forward, pleading for Castiel to believe him.

                The man’s nostrils flare slightly, but then he nods—and Dean finally drops his hands back to the table, feeling the shackles open up and release him.

                “I mean, if I knew she was _your_ sister … I wouldn’t have—”

                “Why would that matter—if she were my sister as opposed to anyone else’s?”

                Dean snorts a laugh. “Ya know, _guy code_.”

                Castiel squints at him and he knows instantly that he just spoke in tongues again.

                “ _Uh_ —you know, like it’s not allowed. Like— don’t drink another man’s beer, and _don’t ever hit on another man’s sister_.”

                “I understand the beer because— _contamination_ and all.” Castiel pauses for a beat and squints harder, focusing almost _through_ Dean—as if scanning him for more clarity. “So you can only flirt with a woman if she is a single-child, or only has sisters?”

                 “ _What?_ ” Dean laughs.

                “Does this code transcend gender? Do women have a _woman-code?_ And do lesbians have something similar? Can they only hit on only-children or women with _brothers?_ And where does this leave the bisexuals?”

                “What the hell are you even talking about, man?” Dean wheezes, feeling himself begin to rattle his seat.

                “I'm just trying to understand the boundaries to this _code_ you speak of. It seems quite unreasonable if you ask me.”

                Dean collapses onto the tabletop—his face buried into his arms, trying to stifle himself so that Anna doesn’t end up kicking them both out of here for causing another scene.

                “What's so funny?”

                Dean can’t answer— _this is too much._

                “I don’t know why you’re acting like what I said is so ridiculous when _you’re_ the one spouting off asinine things like _bro-codes._ ”

Dean peels away just long enough to gawk and wheeze some more. “It’s _guy_ code!” he gasps, quickly falling back and laughing louder with the echo of Castiel saying the word “bro” still pinging around in his mind.

_Some words should never come from such a pretty mouth._

                The thought sobers him instantly— leaving Dean  to wonder _why_ his brain is _so_ insistent on throwing such crazy things at him.

                Castiel doesn’t miss the sudden change in his demeanor though, soon tilting his head in that way that Dean has grown far too fond of in such a short amount of time. “What’s the matter?”

                Dean kicks himself— knowing he has no right to be growing fond of _anything_. He needs to be getting ready to go … he actually, should already be _gone_ by now. He should be a couple hundred miles up the road, thinking about New York or Maine, or wherever the hell he might plan on heading. He shouldn’t still be _here_ , noticing all sorts of strange things about this weird,  little tow truck driver. He needs to stop this. He seriously _needs_ to get it together.

                Castiel reaches out, touching Dean’s wrist for just a moment—fingers careful and warm. “Dean?”

                _Maybe it won’t hurt to stay for a bit._

***

                They sat and they talked for another hour, mostly about what Dean was planning whenever he finally got back to his drive—even making up a few plans right then and there.

                “Have you ever visited the Natural History Museum in Washington DC?” Castiel had asked, after Dean had talked about taking Sam to all sorts of museums when they went on road trips with their parents. He was actually just bringing it up to gripe about all the boring-ass paintings he had to look at, but the way those blue eyes brightened when he mentioned it, made Dean change his tune. So, after another ten minutes—hearing all about the dinosaur bones and different displays that they had there, Dean was promising the guy that he’d stop by and take a look.

                He wasn’t originally planning on driving through Virginia— _but_ _plans change._

                They talked and they talked, and Dean laughed until he thought he might pee; which, after three more cups of Anna’s awesome coffee, was a very likely possibility. But Dean didn’t want to break the magic, that smooth, comfortable rhythm they had going. It was easy and fun, and he couldn’t remember the last time he was able just to _talk_ like this _._ Talk without worrying about what he might say. Talk without having to ensure he wasn’t about to lose it.

                Talk like his words were _worth_ something.

                _Maybe the last time was with Sam?_

                Even then, it had to be _years ago._ Years before everything  became so fucking stressful; before Lisa, before his shop went under. Years before his dad shut down to the world. Years before his mother died. The funny thing is though—or maybe, _not so funny thing_ … there really hadn’t been _that_ many years between it all; some events weren’t even _months_ apart. Truth be told, from when his mom was diagnosed, to when she passed and dad just _lost it,_ was just a little less than a year. And it was only a year after _that_ that his father bolted—turning up dead in a hotel room a few months later. The coroner had said, he had a stroke.

                Dean thinks his heart just finally realized that its other half was really gone. 

                Fast forward just one more year and _here he is_ , standing outside of a bakery, looking at a tow truck driver, trying to figure out just what the hell he’s doing with his life.

                _Three years._

               That’s all it really took to get him here, but _Jesus_ —it could have been a millennium.

 

                “I suppose you’ll be on your way now?”

                Dean comes out of his head just enough to see Castiel cross his arms and tilt onto Baby’s side, like she was _his_ to lean against. It would normally piss him off, but for some reason, it doesn’t do anything but make him smile even brighter as he says, “I was thinkin’ I might stay one more night. Try and get my plans hammered down.”

                He can’t be sure, but he thinks he sees Castiel bite back a grin.

 

 


	4. In the Dust

                He had gone back inside the motel to book his room again—surprised when he saw that the stanch old woman that he booked with last night was _still_ at the front desk. It was almost as if she didn’t move at all, and Dean wondered if she was animatronic or something; but even Walt Disney couldn’t create a grimace _that_ intense. _No_ … that thing was a hundred percent  _pure_ _detest_ and Dean sometimes thinks he’s the _only_ person in the world who can bring it out of people.

               Once he had finished and brought his tote bag back up the stairs, throwing it onto the bed before giving himself a once-over in the mirror, he returned outside to meet back up with Castiel—who had remained where he’d left him ... leaned up and smiling against the side of his baby.

                “Okay, all set … although, I think that lady in there wants to kill me” Dean laughs, gesturing his thumb over his shoulder to the front door of Maggie’s Inn.

                “ _Ah_ …” Castiel sips.” Yes, _well_ , Mrs. Mason is not the most— _sociable,_ but she is very generous. She makes free meals for the underprivileged and sends them out to the surrounding areas. She is a town-hero of sorts.”

                Now Dean feels like an ass. “Sorry, I didn’t know.”

                Castiel smiles at him with a hint of _devil_ feathering around the edges. “Don’t get me wrong, she _very well_ might kill you.”

                Dean perks up with a laugh. “ _What?_ Do I just have a killable-face or something?”

                Castiel shrugs, and the motion is almost odd coming from such a man.

                So Dean decides to work up his big, puppy-eyes, trying his best to channel Sam. “ _This_ face?”

                “Especially _that_ face.”

                Dean cracks up. “Yeah, I suppose you’re the wrong person to ask—considering how _you_ almost killed me earlier.”

                The good humor once surrounding the other man seems to drain into the gutters at his feet. “I _am_ sorry, again … I overreacted.”

                _Damnit—way to go, Winchester_. “It’s cool. Really … no harm done. _Hell_ , I’m sure I have an ass-kicking headed my way sooner or later so … _no big deal_.”

                The joke seems to make Castiel ease a little, but now everything else feels tight— _forced_ , and Dean simply despises it; yet, no matter what he thinks of saying, nothing topples out of his mouth to make it all better. He looks around them for a moment—the street is fairly empty, save for a couple of cars and one or two people walking in and out of the shops that are just now opening their doors. He thinks that this place is probably _always_ like this—with everyone somehow always in their place, never slipping—just _working_. He imagines that that’s probably why Mrs. Mason doesn’t like him very much. Last night, when he was just another _one-of-the-many_ who pass through here, he was _acceptable_ ; but now that he’s staying yet again—he could disrupt things. And by the way this morning went … he supposes she’s not wrong; however, disrupting everyone’s life is the last thing Dean wants to do. In fact, that’s why he left Lawrence in the first place. Being a burden was never his goal, but he always feels like he has a natural talent for it.

“You need an oil change.”

                Dean slowly turns back to look at Castiel—his face crunching together with confusion. “ _What?_ ”

                “I—I assume that you would need an oil change after yesterday. Would you like me to help you with one?”

                “ _Uh_ …” _Yes,_ he _does_ need an oil change. He knew that the second Baby overheated, and he’d planned on getting one in the next town he came to—back when he thought that he was going to avoid this place like the plague.

_That feels like forever ago now._

               In any event, Castiel offering him one seems like an odd way to change the subject—but then again, _Castiel is an odd dude_. Dean _does_ really need to take care of his baby though. “Yeah, _uh_ , sure—I guess. Yeah … that’d be good, I think.”

                “Do I need to let you ruminate on it some more?”

                Dean chuckles, happy that he actually knows what the fuck _ruminate_ means. _Thanks, Vonnegut._ “No, man. It’s fine. You’re right, _I need one_ —just was thinkin’ I’d have to do it later, is all.”

                “No need. If you want to drive back to Lew’s and pull in behind the shop, I can take you in the garage.”

                “ _Take me_ —” Dean repeats, almost reverently, snapping out of it when he feels his cock start to twitch. _Fuck … stop it!_

_Dead puppies._

_Mrs. Mason, naked—the Impala being totaled._

_That does it._

               Dean breathes in deep, shuttering with the sheer thought. It’s not a thing he’d normally put into the universe, much less— _his own brain_ ; but he doesn’t need to be popping boners in front of this guy. He finally nods, stopping after a second more when he realizes something else beyond just what’s going on in his own pants. “Isn’t it like your day off or something?” He signals loosely to the man’s easy state of dress.

                “Yes—so?”

                Dean looks to the ground and tilts up to his toes. “Well—wouldn’t you rather be relaxing?”

                “Work _is_ how I relax. Besides, the process will not take long. It would be my pleasure, and I do owe you now … _for the breakfast_.”

                Dean groans, but it’s nothing but humorous as he looks back to Castiel “ _Nuh uh_ , the breakfast was a favor after yesterday! You can’t owe someone after they just repaid you for doing them a solid in the first place.”

                The other man shrugs again as he raises an eyebrow. “I suppose that means—I will have to break the rules.” Castiel is soon stepping back up onto the sidewalk, leaving the Impala alone behind him and coming in close to Dean’s side. “Or—is this actually some other _code_ that I’m not aware of?” he grins, horns peeking through his messy hair.

                Dean laughs— breathless and uneasy with just how near all that _blue_ is to him now. “No— _uh_ —no code.”

                “Good. Then it’s settled. Meet me there.”

                And with that, Castiel is off—striding down the pavement as if the wind is carrying him. Dean watches him go, doing his best to not look at the man’s ass as it swivels back and forth in those very, _very_ fitted jeans. He tries— _he really does_ , but as usual … Dean Winchester  _fails_.

 

***

                “I … I thought you meant … _um_ …”

                Castiel stares at him—oil pan in one hand and a wrench in the other, already half crouched down so he can lie on the creeper and slide underneath the Impala. “Thought what?”

                “ _Um_ …”

               It was one thing—Castiel putting some _coolant_ into his car … not much harm can come from that. And he supposes, not much harm can come from _this_ either. It’s just an oil change—every self-respecting _car guy_ has probably done a million of them. He’s sure Castiel knows what he’s doing; but then again … this is _Dean’s baby._ No one but him and his dad has ever touched her. Even the one time he thought about letting Sam help him do some maintenance … just a small thing like replacing the spark plugs—the kid came out holding a hot dog for Christ’s sakes! Thinking he was going to be able to eat _while_ he worked. That sort of carelessness is what terrifies Dean the most. That’s exactly why he doesn’t like to bring his baby into shops— _well_ , shops that _he_ doesn’t own, anyway. He was sort of assuming that Castiel was going to just, _let him do it himself_. Let Dean have free range in the garage and use what he needed. Although, thinking about it now—this stuff isn’t _Cas’s_ to lend. _Of course_ _the guy wouldn’t have meant that!_ With as proper as _Castiel_ is? He wouldn’t just let anyone use Lew’s things. _Shit …_ Dean walked right into this one. And he can’t really change his mind now. The Impala is already pulled in—she’s already lifted up onto the jack. She’s all ready to go—and she _does_ really need an oil change. In all honesty, he wasn’t looking forward to driving another hundred miles without one. What’s he going to say? ' _No, she doesn’t need one anymore.'_

                _Fuck …_ he’s going to have to let him do it. He’s going to have to let another man _maintain his baby._

The realization makes Dean nauseated. _Dad is probably turning over in his grave … or his urn. How does that even work when you’re cremated? Do you still turn over? Where the fuck did that saying even come from?_

“Dean?” Castiel is still hovering—waiting for Dean to finish his thought.

                But at this point, he's having trouble remembering _which_ of his thoughts he actually said out loud. _It doesn’t matter._ “ _Um_ , nothing. Never mind.”

                “Alright then.” Castiel plops down onto the creeper, giving it a cursory roll back and forth—as if testing its sturdiness. _Then_ —to Dean’s complete surprise and _utter terror_ , the man begins to pull off his shirt.

                “What— _uh_ …” Dean sputters, turning away quickly, trying to be respectful of Castiel’s privacy, but still giving the now bare-chested man a couple more glances as he tries to figure out just what the hell is happening.

                “I like this shirt. I don’t want to get oil on it.”

                Dean swallows hard and looks up to the ceiling. “ _Oh_.”

                “If—if it makes you more comfortable, I can try and find some of Lew’s spare coveralls.”

                He collects himself enough to look back down a moment—taking in the hard curve of Castiel’s body as he sits on the board. His skin is tan and his stomach bunches adorably in the center. It is both cute and _disgustingly_ hot, and Dean knows he has to stare at the ceiling again if he’s going to manage anything close to a complete sentence. “It—it—it’s fine.” He forces out a strained chuckle. “No problem. Do it all the time, myself—I mean. _I take off my shirt._ I do that a lot … _like_ … when I— _uh_ —when I change—” his words trail off as his face drops—understanding that maybe he _shouldn’t_ try to manage complete sentences after all. Not unless he wants to look like a total moron.

“ _Okay_ …” Castiel hums, and by the tone of his voice—Dean knows that the guy probably thinks he’s crazy. _Again … not wrong._ “Would you mind taking this?”

                Startled, Dean looks down to see the man handing him the discarded shirt—loosely folded and waiting for Dean to take. “ _Uh_ —sure” he responds finally, slowly reaching out and grasping the baby blue fabric.

                As soon as it’s out of his hands, Castiel lies back—back flat on the board so he can roll beneath the car.

                Dean watches as inch by inch—the man’s taught skin disappears past his baby’s chrome bumper; and by the time Castiel stops, only his hips and belly button are showing anymore—flesh pulling and twisting as he maneuvers the tools below Baby’s carriage.

                Dean’s mouth goes dry.

                He gawks at the dip below the man’s navel—thinking how _hot_ it would be to see his own come pooling right there.

_Oh fuck!_

               That was a dirtier image than Dean was expecting, and he wasn’t even expecting _any_ dirty images at all.

               Castiel jerks up his leg, so his knee is bent—booted foot planted firmly on the cement floor, shovimg himself deeper beneath the car. The movement makes his thigh flex, and Dean slouches atop his own shaking body.

_God, I want to feel those thighs on my face._

_Fuck! Stop it! No, stop it … stop it, stop it, stop it!_

                Castiel grunts as the _clank_ of his wrench sings across the garage.

                The noise settles right onto Dean’s dick, and absolutely does nothing to assuage the concern for his car that's still wavering at the back of his mind.

                 Then, Castiel grunts _louder._

                 Dean almost moans—mindlessly lifting up the guy's shirt to his nose, breathing it in, long and deep. The soft cotton feels like _sin_ on his skin, and he scrunches it between his fingers in a white-knuckle hold.

                Castiel grunts for a third time. “This is tight.”

                “Oh, _come on!_ ” Dean _does_ moan now, using his free hand to rub his aching cock as it presses against the zipper of his jeans.

                “What's that?” Castiel shouts through the metal, and Dean glances back down just in time to see the guy begin to wheel back out into the open air.

                With a panicked leap, Dean juts his foot forward and plants it on the edge of the creeper—keeping it from wheeling any further. “Nothing! _Nothing_ — _uh_ , just … just keep working.”

                Castiel’s body is impossibly still, and Dean can only imagine the cute, confused face he must be making right now … his cock gets harder _._ “Alright … but are—are you in a hurry?”

                Dean rolls his eyes—at _himself_ more than anyone. “No, _um_ … I’m just …” his stomach churns with _need_ and _nerves_ , and for once, it gives him a more _acceptable_  excuse for how stupid he’s acting. “Just _hungry_. Those muffins were good, but, I—I usually eat more in the mornings.” He relaxes with the sounds of the wrench working at the oil-bolt again.

                “Oh, of course. I almost have this—” yet another deep grunt vibrates Dean to his very-wanting core. “ _There!_ Alright … the oil is draining.”

                Then, the creeper jumps out with force and Dean stumbles backwards—not expecting Castiel to move so quickly. Thankfully, he’s about his wits enough to use the _now-wrinkled_ shirt to cover himself the second those blue eyes can see him again.

                “What weight do you use?”

                Castiel gets up and Dean is silent and wide-eyed a moment—scared to death that if this guy just looks down a _few_ _inches_ … "What?”

                “ _Oil_ —what weight?”

                “Oh …” _Yes—cars. Let’s focus on car stuff. That’s good_. He can do that all day. “Twenty-forty synthetic blend, if ya got it. It’s better for high mileage engines and with as much as I drive, ya know? It keeps the sludge at a minimum too … unless you’re an asshat like me and don’t replace your coolant tubes. Yeah—twenty forty. That’s what I use. _It’s good_. Good stuff … _yeah_.”

                “… _okay_ ” Castiel responds cautiously, stepping up closer to Dean.

                If he could breathe, or _think_ , or even _exist_ properly right now, he would ask Castiel what he's about to do, but there is no hope of him making anything other than awkward squeaks as the other man— _still shirtless_ —leans in even closer.

_Is he gonna kiss me? What the fuck? Oh fuck, oh fuck—fuckity fuck!_

                Castiel pulls away again—now with a rag in his hand, which he must have pulled off the work bench that is set up just behind Dean's bank. He begins rubbing the excess oil and grime from his fingers, looking Dean up and down curiously—but all Dean can do is notice the slow, calculated way that this dude rubs up the length of his index … slipping smoothly over each digit and then across to his thumb, _twisting_ , _jerking_ , taking extra care at the tip as he tries to get the black from beneath his nail.

                Dean presses the shirt harder into his crotch.

                “Are you alright? You’re acting strange.”

                “ _Fine_ ” Dean squeaks, smiling too large and probably looking crazed.

                Thankfully, Castiel just sighs and gives him a smile. “You must be very hungry. I have only ever seen a begging dog look like that.”

                Dean watches— thankful when Castiel finally turns around.

 _More like a horny dog,_ he thinks to himself—wondering when he became anything less than _human_.

               Castiel tosses the rag over his bare shoulder; and once he’s satisfied with the state of his hands, he saunters towards the door to the shop at the other end of the garage. “I’ll be just a minute—I am going to see if we have that weight in stock.”

                “Yeah, _no problem_ …” Dean starts, biting his lip as he watches the sinews of Castiel’s back pop out and then run flush once more with each steady step that he takes. “But— _uh_ , do you got a bathroom ‘round here? All that coffee, _ya know_ …” He cringes, but Dean figures implying that he needs to take a shit is _still_ less embarrassing than: _Hey, I can’t help but want to come all over your chest when you’re all shirtless like this, so I need to go find a place to whack it before I start dry-humping your leg like a Labrador._

Castiel turns, cracking his knuckles together in fists, arms flexing with the effort—eyes crinkling and _apparently_ , not swayed by anything at all. “Of course—it’s back there behind Lew’s office.” One of those strong, long fingers points to the other end of the space, just off to Dean’s left.

                “Awesome!” Dean yelps, whipping around to head in that direction—tossing Castiel’s shirt, along with his concerns for his baby's wellbeing, onto the chair that’s set up beside the work bench. He had the fleeting thought of bringing the shirt with him, but there’s no way in hell Dean could pass off _jizz-stains_ as something that happened _accidentally._

               So instead, he runs into the bathroom empty handed, slamming the door hard behind him—hoping that the hot guy outside didn’t notice just how _insanely_  he sprinted here.

_Yeah—wishful thinking._

***

                With his baby all set to go— and his _pipes cleaned_ , Dean drives out of the shop—all in all, _miserable_ from the entire experience. _Sure_ , he got a free oil change out of it (well, no _t_ really because Cas didn’t see the forty bucks he snuck onto Lew’s desk) and he got to see _a lot more_ of the sexy tow truck driver then he was ever expecting; but what good is any of it really doing him? It’s not like he can pursue any of this—and even if he could, it’s not like he _would_. He’s not gay, after all … well, he _has_ found several guys attractive throughout his life, but— _men can appreciate other men. It’s nothing!_

                Although … masturbating in a garage bathroom because you can’t stop yourself from imagining another man naked—on his knees and devouring your dick likes he’s starving for it, _may_ just not be “nothing”.

Dean pulls out the rest of the way into the shop’s small parking lot centered in the alley out back. He slumps and slips down into the seat.

_Maybe I shouldn’t stay another night._

“So, what were you thinking of having for lunch? There is a decent barbeque restaurant on the other end of town.”

                Dean shimmies back up when he spots Castiel walking towards the car—shirt back on, still looking sexy, but _thankfully_ —more average than he did a moment ago. The man finally comes to a stop outside of Dean’s open window.

                Blue eyes are soon dipping down to peer in through the space, and Dean feels like a fish in a fish bowl. Nothing to do but swim in circles like a mindless buffoon. “Yeah, sounds good.”

                “Of course, they don’t beat _Anna’s_ barbeque. She has the best food in the entire Midwest.”

                Dean feels like he can swim a little further with the small motion in topic. “Yeah—I _uh_ , I thought I smelled some barbeque when I was there last night. So … ‘ _bakery’_ is kind of a lie, then? She’s more _full service?_ ” He shuts his eyes quick with the accidental implication, but after another moment of silence, he peeks out again—eased by the sight of Castiel’s smile.

               “Yeah, she cooks _everything_. She started that place as just a bakery, but after seeing the sorry selection of restaurants in the area, she expanded. She bought the store behind her location as well and built a walkway through the back—there’s quite a substantial chef’s kitchen in there now.”

               “Wow—I didn’t know she was such an entrepreneur.”

               “Just like our father … she was always the most like him.”

               Dean watches as Castiel’s eyes cloud over with _something else_ , and he suddenly doesn’t want to avoid them anymore. “What?” he asks, knowing that a look like that has to mean something.

               The other man blinks a few times and then is back, as if the expression had never crossed his face at all. “Would you like to follow me to the other restaurant?”

               Dean could press the matter but, he himself is the king of avoiding, so he has no right to make anyone else talk about their feelings if they don’t want to. So instead, he plays along with Castiel’s diversion. “Why not your sister’s place again? You just said she has the best food around.”

               “Oh, _she does._ She studied for ten years in Paris—working under the world’s top ranking chef’s. _She is unmatched_. But she also has the temper of a dragon in heat and I have already tested her today. It’s better not to risk it.”

               Dean is cracking up yet again—getting whiplash from this violent back and forth he’s been doing lately. He’s either _scared_ of this guy or _loving_ this guy. He either wants to fuck him senseless, or never see him again. Now he feels like he could spend every second of every day just listening to him talk … it’s all actually, quite unsettling.

               “So, would you like to follow me there?” Castiel asks again, making Dean realize that now he’s just _staring_ at the man and not saying a word.

               “Oh— _yeah_. Sure.”

               Castiel smiles and taps the roof of the car with his hand before turning to walk away.

               Dean watches him go—his logical sense choosing _this moment_ to finally show up to the party. “ _Uh_ , hey Cas … why, _uh_ —why don’t you just ride with _me?_ No sense in us taking two cars.”

               Castiel turns with the sound of his name and smiling grandly as he listens to Dean’s words. “That would be fine” he says—his sentence, _impartial;_ but his tone makes him sound like a kid on his way to Disneyland.

               Dean gets excited by association, gritting his teeth a moment later when he realizes that _that_ _wasn’t_ logical sense showing up, but just his dick in disguise. And the moment Castiel opens up the passenger door—sliding on in with ease, like he’s done it a million times, Dean’s excitement goes into overdrive. He wants to throw the man right into the backseat and see if he can still taste some oil on his skin. He wants to shove that blue shirt up under his chin and lick every divot between his ribs. _God_ , if he could just _feel_ him … just _touch him_ a little bit, Dean thinks he would be set for life as for as _sexual fantasy_ goes. No more trying to recall the plots to pornos. No more mustering up fake images to work with. _N_ _o_ , just one little _caress_ and Castiel could fuel his erections until the end of time.

               “Were we going … or…?”

               Dean’s eyes pop wide when he comprehends that he’s just sitting here, _staring once again_ at Castiel. “Oh—yeah, _yeah_. We’re leaving.” He whips his gaze back around and starts the car—throwing it into drive before peeling out of the parking space and filling the lot with dust. He speeds onto the road—lead foot to the floor, acting as if he drives fast enough, he can just leave all his thoughts behind him.

              The soft, gravelly chuckle that rumbles through Castiel’s body proves— _there is no such hope._

 

 

 

               


	5. Crash

                His day with Castiel ended sooner than he would have hoped … or maybe he was relieved it ended early? Dean just wasn’t really sure anymore— not of anything … other than being sure that he wasn’t sure of what the hell he was supposed to be doing now. They were halfway through their meal when Castiel’s phone rang. It was Lew, telling him that the kid that normally covers the weekends had some sort of emergency, and they already got three calls for tows. Dean tried to look nonchalant as the other man said that he needed to go, following it up with half a dozen apologies.

                “It’s fine. Shit happens. Don’t worry about it” Dean had said around his mouthful of pulled-pork, but Castiel still looked – _kind of heartbroken_ by the whole thing.

                It was a look that Dean had mulled over in the minutes after the other man had left—and he continued thinking about it when he asked for the check, only to find that Castiel had paid it on the way out. _Damn that guy._ He tried to escape it all by walking around the town—he spent the rest of the afternoon looking in little shops or exploring the park that was cornering Huntsville; but every time he let down his guard for even a moment, all his questions about Castiel came rushing right back. And now, here he is—back in his motel room, tossing the thoughts back and forth in his head some more … a regular badminton match between his frontal lobe and his brainstem. _Why was Cas so upset over having to go? Does he really hate his job that much? No, he said he loved it … it was freeing or some shit like that. Did he just really want the day off? Was he really looking forward to finishing the rest of his brisket? Damn, that dude can eat. Was that it? Was he just super hungry? Was … was it me? Did he not want to leave … me?_

The dangerous feelings are mercifully cut off by the ringing of his phone, and Dean shakes his head against his pillow, trying to right his mind before he opens his mouth to answer it—or else, those questions might still continue spilling out.

                “Hello?”

                “ _Dean_ …” Sam’s voice is small, _scared_ … it centers Dean instantly.

                “What happened, are you okay? _Jess?_ ”

                “She’s fine … the baby is fine.”

                Dean didn’t even realize that he had sat up, but now he’s crumbling back towards the mattress with the overwhelming relief. He would be a big, fat liar if he said he wasn’t worried every second of every day about that little, baby boy brewing in Jessica’s belly. The Winchester-curse has been mighty strong the last few years—claiming too many lives, _too young_. _It wouldn’t be surprising if …_ Dean doesn’t finish the thought. He nails down his wandering mind and forces it to focus on _Sam._ His baby brother is hurting over _something_ and he needs to find out _what_. “Okay … so, _spill_ ” he says softly, in that caring, big-brother way that he had mastered forever ago.

                Sam is silent for a few moments longer, and Dean thinks that he knows what this is about … but it has been _years_ since the last time, so he doesn’t want to assume just yet. Sam takes in a long shaky breath. “I—I had the dream again.”

                He _should_ _have_ assumed. “ _Shit_ … I was hoping those were gone.”

                “Me too.”

                Dean sighs and drags his hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes as he begins setting his mind to a new task. Sam used to have these dreams a lot … well, just _one_ dream, actually. Same one, over and over again; and Dean was the only one he had ever told about it. He probably wouldn’t have even told _him_ if they weren’t sharing a room the first time it happened. But … Sam was only eight and Dean could always tell when something was bothering the kid—especially when Sam jumped out of bed, shrieking like he was being mauled by a bear. Dean nearly pissed himself, it scared him so bad. Thankfully, as the years went by, the startled awakenings happened less and less, trading themselves in for calmer, but _no-less-terrifying_ jolts. Dean hated those nights with a passion … not because he missed the sleep, he never slept that well anyway; but, seeing how absolutely horrified Sam was in those moments, and the fact that he couldn’t just reach in and yank that hurt from his brother’s eyes— _broke him_. He wasn’t doing his job if he couldn’t keep Sammy from looking that way.

                “Same thing? I mean … did it start the same way?” Dean asks, trying not to sound disappointed. But, _he is_ … he really thought that once Sam met Jess, these dreams would finally be over. He thought that maybe the kid finally found that security in _her_ that he's always hoped for.

                “No. It started … right, right when the truck hit.”

                “Oh …” Dean couldn’t remember _that_ part. He remembered everything before. He remembered throwing a french fry at his dad while he was sitting behind him in the backseat of the impala. He remembers seeing his dad’s smiling eyes in the rearview, and then he remembers Sam screaming “look out” from beside him, and then— _that’s it._ The world went dark. It was dark and blank until he woke up in the hospital about three months later. For him, the whole thing was nothing more than a weird moment in time. It was about the same for their dad too. John had been in and out of consciousness afterwards, so he remembered bits and pieces that Dean didn’t, but it was scattered. His last complete memory was taking the boys to Wendy’s and getting them some burgers and fries before they headed back down to the creek to fish.

                The truck had hit the back end of the impala on Dean’s side, so he got the worst of it. John was knocked out instantly and suffered a few broken ribs … but _Sam_ , Sam was awake the entire time … a busted arm, cut up and bruised, but _awake_. He had watched it all happen from the second the truck barreled through the stop sign, to when it plowed into Dean’s door. He watched as they spun in the air and landed upside down on the grassy embankment beside Creek Road. Sam was loopy and hurt, but still aware when he crawled out of the shattered window—crying out for Dean and his dad to answer him, but neither did. Sam was awake as he inched on hand and knees to the other side of the car—and he was _most certainly_ awake when he saw them both … his father and brother, broken and bloody, mangled and dying in crumpled lumps against the roof of that prized classic. The impala was a steaming, a crushed mass of metal around them … and to Sam, it was basically _three_ members of his family that were clinging to life along that grassy hill. He was only seven and he was watching everything he knew fall apart.

                Dean shudders. _He_ —of course, found all that out _later_ , once he had finally woken up and learned to walk and talk again. He knows that there was nothing he could have done, but he still beats himself up for not being there for Sammy when he needed him the most. “It’s okay. You’re awake now.”

                “And _you’re not here_.” Sam’s voice is raw and dejected, and it’s whirling violently through the phone.

                It slashes against Dean’s eardrum and he winces with the pain it causes. But— _Sammy is right_. He _isn’t_ there. For the first time since the kid started having the dreams, Dean isn’t there to comfort him. “I can be there in two hours” he rasps, already leaping out of bed and looking around the room for his car keys.

                Sam sighs into the receiver. “No … I— _no_. Sorry. I didn’t mean … I’m sorry.”

                “It’s okay … I can come back. I’ll be there soon, kid.”

                “ _Dean_.” Sam’s voice is harsh again, but not in the hurt-way like it was before.

                It stops Dean cold.

                “You’re not coming back here just to comfort me because of a bad dream.”

                Dean could get mad. Just last night, the guy was practically _begging_ him to come home but now that he’s going to, he’s telling him to stay.

                “I mean … I’m fucking _twenty six_. I shouldn’t need you to help me get over this shit.”

                Dean grumbles and then plops back down onto the bed. He hates it when Sam reminds him of how old he’s gotten … it makes Dean feel even older. “Does Jess know yet?’ he asks, changing the subject slightly. They can get back to his coming and going, later.

                “No. I mean … I _did_ finally tell her about the accident a couple months ago, but—not about the dreams.”

                “Didn’t she wake up when you had it?” Dean asks curiously. Even though Sam never came out of the dream screaming anymore, he still always jumped really hard—and with as big as he is now, Dean imagines that tiny, little Jessica would most certainly notice her moose of a husband knocking her out of bed.

                “I fell asleep on the couch.”

                Dean snorts. “ _Uh oh_ … what did you do?”

                Sam let’s out a small laugh and it makes Dean ease some, knowing that his baby brother is already feeling a bit better. “Nothing … she was just hot and said that me being next to her was like trying to sleep in a volcano. I guess babies are pretty good furnaces.”

                Dean hums in understanding, and he supposes that he should be thankful that Jess didn’t have to wake up to Sam thrashing around—not with everything that she’s already dealing with; and _especially_ since she doesn’t know about all this. “You have to tell her at some point, Sammy. You can’t let her find out the next time you have one.”

                “I didn’t think I was having them anymore” Sam whines.

                “I know … I know. But obviously, that’s not the case, so you gotta tell her, man.”

                “ _Yeah_ ” Sam gives in, making the phone crackle as he talks. His sorrowful breaths fill in for all his other complaints.

                “Why now?” Dean asks suddenly, shutting his eyes as soon as the words leave his mouth, because he has an aching feeling that, he already knows the answer. The dream’s timing is poignant.

                Sam sighs again but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

                _Dean isn’t there._ He’s not there just like he wasn’t there when that truck hit. _Sure_ , his body was in front of Sam … but Dean couldn't help him. He couldn’t comfort him and tell him that everything was going to be okay. He couldn’t give him directions on what to do next. He couldn’t do that for well over three months, and by the time he finally could try to do that again, Dean was heartbroken with how much Sam had seemed to age. It seemed like overnight, his baby brother went from that dorky, shaggy headed kid, to a lanky young man who had lost so much of the joy that used to light him up. It took him weeks to finally open his mouth and even _speak_ to Dean—like, _really_ speak to him. It was almost as if Dean was the little brother at that point, and Sam was walking on eggshells around him constantly, just trying to make sure that nothing else could go wrong. Things didn’t start to get back to normal until Dean had yanked himself out of his wheelchair and loomed over his (at the time) shorter brother, telling him he needed to stop acting like an idiot and just _talk_. Sam relaxed some after that. Balance was finally being restored and they could finally start to get back to how things used to be.

                “I’m sorry, Sammy” Dean whispers, after too many long, quiet moments , because _he is_. It may not have been as violent as that day so many years ago—but he still _left the kid_. He still left him to fend for himself against the cruel, scary world. He tore out of his life just as quickly as that truck had torn into the impala. He wasn’t thinking of it like that when he did it, but he’s thinking of it now. But _now_ isn’t helping anyone.

                “You don’t have anything to apologize for” Sam groans, and quickly follows it up with a yawn. “I shouldn’t have to come running to you over a bad dream. Like I said before, I’m fucking twenty six. “

                Dean laughs, harshly. “ _Ugh_ , don’t remind me.”

                Sam laughs too, and the air instantly feels lighter.

                Silence mixed with soft sighs covers the next few minutes, and Dean imagines that they’re both collecting their thoughts—straightening things out in their heads, trying to make things better on their own while still weighing heavily on the support that’s pressing against the other end of the call.

                “Remember that time mom took us to the lake?” Dean asks, knowing that this is the next part of the routine— the fun part that always comes after the bad. Sam wakes up, _he’s scared_ —Dean calms him down, gets him to laugh and then they remember the _good old days_. It’s the only upside to this whole thing. “I don’t know if you do. You were only like five or somethin’.”

                “Wasn’t that the time you taught me how to skip rocks?”

                Dean grins wide and looks up at the ceiling—the dingy, white surface now coated with the projected memories of that day. “Yeah, yeah! I can’t believe you remember that!”

                “Of course I do! Mom brought like seven pies for some reason.”

                “It wasn’t for _some reason._ She had baked them for Dad’s work-thing; but then it got canceled, or _he_ canceled it … I forget. She was kinda pissed at him so that’s why we ended up going to the lake in the first place.”

                “I didn’t know that.” Sam sounds sad again and Dean kicks himself.

                “It wasn’t a big deal or anything. I mean, they made up as soon as we got back home.”

                “Yeah …” Sam whispers, but Dean knows the guy is still dwelling.

                “Remember how mom was determined to get a tan?”

                “What?”

                Dean grins again, because he can always snap the kid out of his funk. “Our neighbors had just gotten back from some vacation to California or somethin’, and the wife was all tan and mom was jealous. She wouldn’t admit that, but she totally was.” Dean laughs as the image of his mother’s frowning face and folded arms, crawls back into his mind. “So, when we got to the shore of the lake, she laid out in the sun while we played. Then, we went and laid with her. I think all three of us fell asleep because, when we woke up, we were all burnt to shit.”

                “I remember that! Yeah, she was _so_ red—and I just remember crying on the way back home.”

                “Well, hot black leather on sunburnt thighs is a fucking _bitch_.” Dean grimaces with the memory of peeling himself off the Impala’s seat once they got home that day. “I thought I was getting skinned alive when mom yanked me outta the car.”

                “Is that why she was always so hell bent on making us wear sunscreen?”

                Dean chuckles. “ _Yep_. She felt so bad for letting us get burnt. That’s why I have so many damn freckles now.”

                “Yeah, guess I lucked out with that one.”

                “Shut up, bitch. You got _dad’s_ skin … you may not have freckles, but you’re gonna have eczema like a son-of-bitch!”

                “Yeah, all I have to do is buy a cream for that. You’re stuck with those freckles forever.”

                “Leave me and my angel kisses alone!” Dean grumbles with a smile. His mother always called them _angel kisses_ , and he would never admit in a million years just how much _he loves that._

                “Fine … fine” Sam chuckles, sighing into a relaxed tone that makes Dean finally breathe easier. “Thanks, Dean. I— I think I’m feeling better now.”

                “No problem, kid.” Dean’s eyes drop down and scan the room, letting the truth about _where_ and _when_ he is, settle back into his skin. “I suppose … I won’t really be able to call you _kid_ much longer, _huh?_ Not when you got _your own_ on the way.”

                “Yeah … you’ll just have to call your new nephew that instead.”

                “ _Nephew_ …” Dean lets the word fill up his chest and he smiles with how warm it makes him feel. “You guys pick a name yet? Lemme guess. Dean Jr.”

                “God no!” Sam laughs.

                Dean scoffs in offense.

                “No … we’re thinking … _John_.”

                Dean sighs and blinks a few times, trying to fight back the sudden burn that’s stinging his eyes. “Yeah … that, that’s a good name.”

                “Ya think … you think if Dad was still around, he would’ve—” Sam stops and Dean knows why.

                His little brother wants to know if their dad would have gotten himself together for the sake of his grandson, and Dean thinks—he _would have_. If his heart could have held out another year or so, he could have found something new to fill that void that their mom had left when she passed. John was always a man who acted on a whim. His intentions were always good, but the second he wanted something, he did it. It drove their mom crazy, but Dean could tell that that sort of unpredictable nature is what drew her to John in the first place. And what she never seemed to realize was just how much she grounded the man. Dean didn’t realize it either—not until she wasn’t there to ground him anymore. Then, John was off, always floating one way or another, too fast for anyone to hold onto. He was a good, good man—Dean can see that clearly now; but, he was pissed as hell at him after he left Lawrence, and Dean can’t help but still get angry every time he reaches for his phone to give him a call .

                Sam needed his father still, _so did Dean_. Sure, they were both grown men when the cancer finally took their mom, but they needed him; but John needed something else … he needed _Mary_. And it seemed like he thought he could run to her—if he just ran _fast_ enough and _far_ enough

                _Maybe it worked._

                “John Dean Winchester”

                Sam words broke Dean’s thoughts and it makes him have to sit up straight once again. “ _Wait_ … what?”

                Sam laughs. “You heard me, jerk.”

                “You’re serious?”

                “Yep. It was actually Jess’s idea. I wanted to go with _Samuel_ as th _e_ middl _e_ name but she said that was lame.”

                Dean cracks up. “Oh my god! I love your wife!”

                “Yeah—I do too, even if she has some crazy ideas every now and then.”

                “Crazy? That woman is genius!”

                “Yeah … she is, isn’t she?” Sam says after another moment, and the fondness in his voice settles everything down.

                “I’m really proud of you, Sammy” Dean finally confesses, because he’s not sure if he's ever said it outright before, but Sam needs to know. “You got this new job and this wife, and now … you’re gonna be _a dad._ I— I’m just so fucking proud of you.”

                “Thanks” Sam says simply, and Dean knows that he’s embarrassed him, but he doesn’t care.

                “I’m really glad that you got all mom’s good sense. I mean, I wish you had left some for _me_ —but whatever.”

                “ _Um_ , you came first. It’s not my fault that you didn’t grab some on your way out.”

                “Yeah—I suppose I had my arms full with all dad’s craziness.”

                “All dad’s _creativity_ ” Sam corrects, seriously.

                Now it’s Dean’s turn to get embarrassed. “Shut up, Sammy.”

                Sam laughs and then yawns again, and it makes Dean yawn too. It’s late—they’ve been talking for a while now and both of them should really be getting to bed; but Dean doesn’t really want to hang up.

                “Where are ya now?” Sam asks just before yawning for a third time.

                “Same place.”

                “ _Why?_ ” His brother sounds thoroughly surprised and Dean can’t blame him. “Not more car trouble, is it?”

                “No … no … I – _uh_ —” _Fuck_ , how does he explain _this one?_ There is _no_ explanation really—he can’t even explain it to himself. “Just … _uh_ … thought I stay and plan out my trip a bit better, is all” Dean lies.

                “ _Uh huh_.” Sam can obviously _tell_ when he lies. “What’s her name?”

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck … fuck._ “There’s no _her._ ”

                “That’s the only reason why you’d stay, Dean.”

                “No … it’s not. I told you—”

                “You’re so full of it. Whatever, I gotta go to bed. You and _whoever_ have a good time.”

                “Shut up. “

                “Love you, Dean.”

                “You too, kid.”

                The call ends, and Dean is smiling.

***

                A knock on his door pulls him out of a very pleasant dream—and now that he’s awake, for the life of him, he can’t remember what it was about. _Figures._

Another knock.

                “Comin'! Hold your damn horses!” Dean garbles as he swings his legs off the end of the bed and gets up to find his sweat pants. He doesn’t bother with a shirt though, because he hopes that he'll be back in bed in a minute—once he tells _whoever_ this, probably drunk person is, that they have the wrong room. Dean pops open the door with the chain still latched so he can peek through.

                “Hello, Dean.”

                Graveled tones and cobalt blue suddenly jolt Dean’s memory of the dream. ”Cas? What … what're ya doin’ here?”

                “I’m sorry it’s late. I—I would have just called you, but … I don’t have your phone number. I felt very badly for leaving you at the restaurant. I wanted to apologize.”

                Dean laughs and rubs at his eyes, using his other hand to tell Castiel to wait a moment. He shuts the door and undoes the chain, opening it up wider and motioning for the man to come in. Castiel smiles and nods humbly before moving in past Dean. “Dude, you already apologized like a _million_ times. It’s really no big deal.”

                The words don’t seem to help the other man in the least, because he still looks heavy beneath the jacket he’s wearing—which Dean thinks is probably a couple sizes too big for him anyway. “I don’t like leaving people …” Cas begins but he doesn’t finish, and it makes Dean’s throat tighten.

                “You didn’t really _leave_ me, Cas. I mean … I had pulled pork and a beer,  and I _am_ a big boy. I think I was able to manage.”

                “I know. I—I’m sorry. It was silly for me to come. Anna always says I take things too seriously.”

                Dean laughs as he shuts the door and steps in closer to Castiel—still a little too tired to realize just _how_ close he gets to him. “She might have a point.”

                “You were asleep” Castiel mumbles suddenly, finally looking Dean up and down—eyes lingering on him in ways that make Dean heat up all over.

                “Yeah … it _is_ midnight. People are usually asleep by midnight.”

                “I woke you up” Castiel mumbles again, as if these concepts are all relatively new and he’s only coming to understand them now.

                “Sorta … it’s okay though” Dean responds, worried that this will set Castiel into another round of needless apologies.

                “I should go.” The befuddled tow truck driver almost mows Dean over as he moves back towards the door, his coat flapping frantically in his wake.

                “ _Woah_ —hey, it’s fine, Cas. What’s your deal?”

                “I’m sorry for waking you” Castiel says curtly before twisting the knob so he can make his escape.

                “Hey—wait a minute.” Dean is beside him before the other man can open up the door all the way … and too quick for his own thoughts. He can only act now, and he is too sleepy to care about what he’s doing. So, when he reaches out to the side table beside the door and grabs the pen that’s resting on it, he doesn’t think twice. And when he grabs Castiel’s hand and pushes up the sleeve to his coat—his mind is still sitting in the bleachers, too far away to hear its calls. And when he rests the ballpoint onto Castiel’s skin, pressing down firmly so the ink can run … Dean ignores the faint protests that ring between his ears. The black, thin numbers curl out onto the other man’s arm, stopping only when Dean comes to the last digit in his phone number. “There” he says, tossing the pen back onto the table before looking up into Castiel’s wondering eyes. “Now you can call— _if ya want_.”

                Castiel smiles and nods once more, but this time—it seems soft and pleased. “I … _well_ ... thank you.”

                “No problem.”

                The other man backs through the door—still looking Dean over but something in his stare has changed, and it makes Dean puff out his chest with pride. “Goodnight" he says, just before turning on his heels to walk down the hall.

                Dean smiles. “Night, Cas.”

               

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me if there are any inconsistencies within this chapter. I have looked back over the other chapters, but I feel like there may be things with timing that are off. Hopefully I caught them all though. Anyway, thanks for reading!


	6. Repetition

                When Dean woke up he smacked his hand onto his forehead with a groan. He couldn’t believe he actually gave Castiel his number! Why would he do something like that? He couldn’t possibly have thought Castiel calling him would do him any good—except, the thought of hearing that man’s voice _beyond_ the borders of this town is making him feel less and less reluctant to leave; but he’s _still_ reluctant.

                It’s gnawing a hole into his stomach. It kept on gnawing all the way through his shower, and it gnawed as he packed up his things in his bag, and now it’s still gnawing as he drops his room key onto the front desk, waiting for the inn owner, Mrs. Mason to look up from her book and acknowledge him.

                “Mornin’ mam” Dean says, trying to sound perky in spite of himself.

                Mrs. Mason heaves a heavy sigh before finally setting down her novel— Dean thinks it’s one of those cheesy romance ones with Fabio on the cover; and he also thinks that he’s read that one before. “May I help you?” the woman drones dryly, glaring at him from over the top of her thinly rimmed glasses.

                “ _Um_ , yes, mam. I’d like to check out.”

                “For _good_ this time or should I just put in a revolvin' door to that room upstairs?”

                Dean twists his face together—surprised by the very blatant attitude coming out of this lady’s mouth. “Excuse me?” he eventually says, forgetting about his stomach for the first time since he awoke.

                “I hope it’s for good this time” Mrs. Mason carelessly continues, slithering her hand over the desk to grab the room key and snake it back. “I don’t appreciate people comin' into my town, acting like they can behave any way they please.”

                Dean’s mouth falls open and he turns to look around himself, almost hoping for a hidden camera or something because— he suspected that Mrs. Mason _didn’t like him,_ but he _never_ suspected her to come right out and say it—and especially not while sounding like some old-time sheriff. _This has to be a joke._ “Mam, if you’re talking about what happened yesterday in the bakery—that was just a misunderstanding.”

                Mrs. Mason picks up the room key and replaces it to its proper hook on the wall, not even looking up but no longer looking at Dean … instead she drops her eyes back to her book and leaves them there until her bony, wrinkled fingers can slip around the pages once more. She purses her lips as she scans the words in front of her, and when she speaks again, it’s as if Dean had never spoken at all. “People tend to think that since I spend most of my days behind this desk, I don’t know what's goin' on in the rest of the town. They think that—since my ears are old and droopin', I can’t possibly _hear_ things … but I hear 'em, and I _see_ 'em. And what I don’t hear 'n see, I can _assume._ And from the moment you walked in through that door … _the first time round_ , mind you— I could assume that you were gonna be a pain in my side … _and son,_ I have a lot of pains already. I don’t need another one.”

                “Look lady …” Dean barks, thinking his mother would forgive him for losing his temper _just this once_   … _this gal’s a bitch._ “I wasn’t plannin’ on any of this. I don’t know who you think you are, but you can’t just start treatin’ people any way you want just because you don’t like the cut of their jib! The fact is, I haven’t done anything wrong here, other than stick my fat foot in my big mouth a few too many times, but if that’s personally offensive to you, then _sor-ry_ ; but _believe me_ , if I knew how to stop myself from doing that—I would. Now if you wouldn’t mind givin’ me my damn receipt so I can get outta here, I’d really like to get the hell outta here!”

                “You sure about that?”

                Dean flinches as Mrs. Mason’s eyes dart back to him, now fiercely stabbing at his own. “What?”

                “You sure you want to leave? Because from where I’m sittin'—you look like you’re questionin' it.”

                “I—I don’t know who _you’re_ lookin’ at, but if I say I want to leave, then _I’m_ _leaving_.”

                Mrs. Mason sighs again and pulls her eyes away, finally hoisting herself out of her seat and reaching to the far end of her desk to get her receipt book. She picks up a pen and begins scratching in Dean’s information, which she has apparently memorized over the course of his time here … which is even more terrifying than the harsh sound the paper makes as she rips it free from the matting. “I do hope that’s true, Mr. Winchester” she begins, making his name sound like a curse word in her mouth. “Because, the Novaks are very important people in this town— _good_ people, who have had enough bad luck on their own without strangers comin' in and addin' to it.”

                Dean is about to ask who the _Novaks_ are, only realizing a moment later that that’s probably Anna’s and Castiel’s last name … Cas never told him what it was before. _Castiel Novak._ It sounds nice in his head, and he almost smiles while repeating it, before he remembers just _where_ he is and _who_ he's talking to. “I am not trying to _add_ to anything. In fact, I have my own troubles to deal with.”

                “That doesn’t surprise me” Mrs. Mason hisses, shoving the receipt towards Dean, in a gesture that says _take this_ and _get the hell out_ all in one fell swoop.

                Dean bites his tongue, stifling all the nasty, but _deserving_ things he wants to call this woman. He snatches the receipt from her hands and turns to storm towards the door—scoffing at the sign above it that reads. “We hope you enjoyed your stay; come back anytime.”

                The bell on the door hinge jingles pleasantly as he swings it open—a parade of music celebrating his long overdue departure,

***

                The Impala’s engine roars as he presses his foot to the gas pedal; barely looking over his shoulder after he whips his car around and drives back past the bakery. The large windows that front the exterior show a lot of people inside, all enjoying their breakfast and chattering away—and for a moment, Dean catches a glimpse of Anna’s red hair; but the sight only makes him flood the engine with even more fuel. He had originally planned on stopping in again—getting another coffee to-go … maybe a few more muffins too, and he cringes now as remembers hoping that he just _might_ run into Castiel; but all those hopes and plans went out the front door of the motel when he bolted through. He has no reason to stay here—no _real_ reason. Sure, he likes Cas … in some, weird way that he doesn’t want to really think about yet, he _really_ likes Cas. And he likes Anna and the town too … _most_ of the town, anyway. And he likes the feeling of someone wanting to talk to him, someone wanting to call him … someone being worried about his feelings. He likes it all so much, he could easily turn his baby back and try it all again for another day; but him _liking_ things was never enough for them to stick. He liked Lisa, he liked his shop … he liked his house, and _hell_ —he _loved_ his parents, but none of that mattered. They all left him or were lost, or were taken away. He has no right to _like_ anything and that certainly isn’t reason enough for him to try and _keep_ it. And if what that crazy, old bitch said is true, he wouldn’t be doing anyone any good by sticking around. His mind fleetingly wonders what problems the woman was talking about when she brought up Castiel’s family, but it really doesn’t matter. He’s not going to be one of them. _No_ , Dean is going to keep on keepin' on—he’s going to follow Main Street all the way down until it passes that BBQ place he and Cas ate at just the day before. Where they had talked about cars and about food, and joked about stupid things that weren’t at all funny, but that they cracked up over until they almost choked. Where they had created so many memories in such a short amount of time. Dean is going to leave it, now. He is going to drive until he leaves it all in the dust behind him. He is going to drive and be free of everything … because originally, _that was his plan._

                He needs to stick with the plan.

                That’s all he’s got.

                That’s all that’s real.

***

                About twenty miles east of Huntsville, Dean pulls into a small gas station to re-fuel. It’s probably going to be the only one for quite a while, so he may as well stop now before he gets stranded on some long stretch of road again. There won’t always be a sexy tow truck driver to help him … _sadly_.

                He sticks the nozzle into the backend of Baby’s tank, and waits at her side for it to fill up. He always feels like this is a personal moment for her … like she’s exposed somehow and he needs to keep watch to make sure no one looks at her funny. It’s a silly thing to think about, but he doesn’t mind being silly for _her_. She deserves all the courtesy he can give—especially after how he’s neglected her recently.

                Once she’s all fueled up, he pops into the small shop that’s connected to the station, figuring he can pick up some snacks, and hopefully a halfway decent cup of coffee before he sets out again. It will be nowhere near the quality of _Anna’s_ , Dean thinks … but the truth is, she might have ruined all other coffee for him for the rest of his life.

                While inside, he walks through each aisle, grabbing some chips, a few candy bars, a couple bottles of water and then a cup of thick, black sludge that someone around here apparently thinks is safe to drink. Dean risks it though—if he wants to avoid a headache later on.

                A wiry, grimy-lookin' guy rings him up—chewing on a toothpick as he sits behind his counter, like he was born there and plans on dying there too. Dean cocks a pathetic smile his way and mumbles "thanks" as he takes back his change. The man just stares at him with lifeless, grey eyes and it sends a shiver up Dean’s spine. _He’s like a zombie. So_ Dean rapidly gathers the bags with everything he bought into his arms, and bustles once more to the Impala, piling it all inside except for his coffee. He stands outside of his passenger door after he shuts it and decides to risk a sip— wincing as soon as the rancid muck coats his tongue.

                “ _Oh my god!_ ” he coughs, spitting what he can back out onto the pavement—but the taste still lingers in his mouth. It seems to get worse as his saliva pools in an attempt to wash the toxin away. Dean rushes around to the trashcan beside the pump and throws the cup in it with vigor, almost as if he chucked it hard enough, it would power down through the bottom of the bin and go all the way into _Hell_ where it belongs. He then yanks open the driver’s door and clamors to the glovebox so he can retrieve some of the extra napkins he stores in there, eventually grabbing a few and using them to scrub at his tongue. He cringes when he pulls back the paper and looks at it—seeing brown spots from where the insulting excuse for _coffee_ , actually stained his taste buds. “I think I need to call poison control” Dean grumbles to himself—swallowing harshly, but it only causes him to gag yet again. “ _Oh no_ …” he feels like he might vomit, and soon he's scanning the bags he just put inside for the water bottles that he bought. He finds one and rips it out, manically twisting off the cap and chugging in some of the refreshing liquid. A sigh erupts from his lungs when he feels the water dampen the burn in his throat. After another few sips, he slumps forward, collapsing face down across the bench seat like he just finished a triathlon. “Never again” he sputters, thinking one last time about the supposed _drink_ that’s probably eating away at the trashcan liner behind him ... just like it’s eating away at his esophagus.

                “ _Dean?_ ”

                Dean jerks violently, leaping from the leather and dropping the water bottle he was holding onto the floor of the Impala. “Fuck!” he yelps, scampering backwards until he can finally pull himself outside of his car and stand upright. He’s unsure if he should look at the source of the other voice, or whip around and grab some of the paper towel hanging off the side of the gas pump in order to sop up the water that’s soaking his floor mats. But as soon as he drags his eyes over to look into Castiel’s bright blue ones, he discards the mess completely. _It’s just water, after all._

                “Cas?” Dean whispers, feeling both confused, and embarrassingly excited by yet another unexpected meeting with the man.

                Castiel opens his mouth to say something, but then his focus drops to Dean’s mid-section, so Dean follows his gaze.

                He reddens when he sees that his shirt is hitched up over his stomach and his jeans are twisted and half sagging down his hips— the rumpled aftermath from all his flailing inside the car. “ _Oh!_ ” he yelps, quickly fixing his clothes while still attempting to look calm and collected. _Fat chance._

                “Right … _well_ —” Castiel clips quickly, once Dean is at last  _presentable_. “I apologize for startling you— _again_. I promise that I am not trying to make a habit of it.”

                Dean chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “It’s fine, but _um_ —what're you doing here?”

                “You … you left in a hurry” Castiel states, as if that’s all the explanation that's needed.

                Dean shrugs and then shoves his hands into his pockets. “I … I just thought that’d be easier, ya know? Kinda not a fan of the whole _goodbye_ - _thing_.”

                Castiel frowns, but nods—staying silent for a minute more as he apparently searches for something else to say. “I brought you something” he finally blurts out and Dean wrinkles his brow at him.

                “What? Why?”

                Castiel holds up one finger, asking Dean to wait before he turns back on the heel of one of those fancy dress shoes to return to the tow truck that’s now parked at the other end of the lot.

                Dean is honestly surprised that he didn’t hear it pull up— but then again when it did, he _was_ trying to keep his tongue from rotting out of his face.

                He watches as the well-dressed tow truck driver climbs inside the cab and fumbles around a second, ultimately clamoring out again with a cup and white paper bag in his hands. Castiel then hops back to the ground and trots once more to Dean’s side, holding out the cup and the bag for Dean to take.

                “Here, this is from Anna” Castiel says, sounding slightly out of breath.

                Dean smiles at the sight of the coffee— _the heaven-sent, angel-blessed, God-divined_ coffee that he’ll probably cry about once he finishes. “Oh shit, thanks!” he says a bit too excitedly, taking both of the items and greedily pulling them towards himself. Once it’s all clutched to his chest, he's able to smell the sweet bread and blueberries that are wafting from the bag, and his mouth begins to water again—this time, in a _good_ way.

                “You’re very welcome” Castiel responds humbly, but his cheeks tint as he opens his mouth once more—taking a bit too long to continue. “She … she saw you drive past earlier. She was expecting you to come by again; but when you left so quickly, she sent me out to bring these things to you. I told her that I probably wouldn’t catch you … but she insisted. She was very, very insistent, actually. I’m not sure why. I—I thought of calling, but I knew that coffee and muffins weren’t valid reasons to make you turn around. I … I’m sorry if I'm keeping you from your journey, but Anna would know if I didn’t at least _try_. She is eerily perceptive like that. I am sorry, though. This all must seem rather silly to you.”

                Dean is mid-sip when Castiel finally finishes his speech, and he can’t help but be conflicted by it. He's overjoyed by the delicious flavors now overtaking his senses—and he's overjoyed by the sight of Castiel standing in front of him now ... looking as hot as ever; yet, he's just a little bummed that it wasn’t _Cas’s_ idea to meet him out here, and he’s upset that the guy feels the need to apologize for it … _for nothing_. On top of all that, he’s confused that all those apologies make him want to do is set down the coffee and muffins so he can gather the man up in his arms and tell him to shut up and stop saying _he’s sorry_ for once. Tell him that’s he’s not upset with him. Tell him that he doesn’t think he _could ever_ be upset with him.

                “I was about to turn back when I saw you stopped here … I hope the coffee is still warm enough” Castiel yammers on, and Dean is more than just a little thankful that he does, because _he_ might just say something stupid if given the chance. Castiel drops his eyes to the ground a moment, looking back up after a few blinks—and appearing positively dejected. “If it’s too cold, I'm sure this establishment has a microwave that you could use. Would you like me to go and ask?”

                Dean has to physically reach out and stop the man because Castiel wasn’t waiting for his answer—already placing a foot out in front of the other to go in and inquire about an unnecessary microwave. _“No—Cas,_ it’s fine. It’s good … _perfect_ , actually” Dean says with a smile—smiling wider when he allows himself to truly _feel_ the guy’s arm beneath his fingers.

                “Oh … alright.” Castiel steps back once more and bounces slightly in his shoes, and the motion shuffles Dean’s hand away.

                So Dean pulls back, watching—still drinking down his coffee and trying his best to savor every drop. “It really is the best coffee I’ve ever had” he says after some time, happy when his words bring a small smile to Cas’s face.

                “Yes. I have found that all other coffee tastes rather bland after having Anna’s blend.”

                “I was thinkin’ the same thing. You should taste the mud they’re selling _here_ —I thought my tongue was going to shrivel up and die!”

                “I don’t think that’s physically possible, Dean” Castiel returns, looking far too serious as well as, slightly concerned for Dean’s health.

                “I … I was joking, man” Dean laughs, soon sighing just before shaking his head. Then, he looks back over his shoulder when he gets the sneaking suspicion that they’re being watched. Sure enough, the gangly guy behind the counter of the gas station is inspecting them through his dirty window, and it makes Dean grimace. “Here, hold these” he grumbles suddenly, shoving the coffee and the bag at Castiel—making the man take the items back, but not without a bit of surprise. Dean ignores it and then climbs behind Baby’s wheel, starting her up while rolling down the window all at once. He peeks his head through the opening and looks back into those curious blues, giving Castiel a crooked smile as he lets his foot off the brake. “Follow me” he calls out over Baby’s purr—slowly pulling away and driving to the other side of the gas station, until he’s out of the view of prying eyes. Through his rearview, he watches Castiel stand still a moment longer—finally looking around confusedly and taking some cautious steps towards where the Impala is now parked. He takes a few more and then a few more, until he’s back at Dean’s side, looking him up and down once he steps back out to greet him. “ _There_ … it was weird with him watching us.”

                Castiel tilts his head—and it makes Dean melt. “Who?” he asks, pushing the coffee and muffins towards Dean once again.

                Dean gathers everything before nodding to the side of the station. “The attendant in there. He was givin’ me the creeps.”

                “Oh, I didn’t notice him.”

                “Lucky you” Dean mutters, shivering with the thought of those lifeless eyes—the way they were staring through the window made Dean feel dirty; but as he focuses once more on Castiel's face, all that filth seems to flit away. He relishes in the cleansing presence as he presses the cup to his lips for even more sweet relief. After some large gulps, he turns his attention to the bag of muffins, noticing just how full it seems. He lets go of one end and lets the parcel fall open—peeking inside to see four large blueberry muffins piled on top of one another, just about as perfect as could be. “Hey—” Dean says, finally—peeking out from behind the edge of the bag. “You want to share these with me?”

                The other man grins—bigger than Dean is expecting, and that gummy smile lights him up with fireworks. “I’d enjoy that very much” Castiel hums, reaching into the bag when Dean offers it to him.

                Dean laughs, eyes crinkling like the paper—feeling better than he has all morning. “Cool” he whispers before finishing off the rest of his coffee.

***

                They sat there for some time, not saying much—but it was surprisingly not awkward at all. Dean had actually enjoyed the silence. It was just the two of them … if he ignored the attendant that was only a thin wall and some pavement away—it was just _them_. Them and the long stretch of flat land, and the rising sun shining down warmly from the sky onto their faces. It was relaxing and it settled his zinging nerves in a way that he thought only whiskey could do. It was unexpectedly perfect; but once the muffins were gone, there was a new, lingering presence of _time_. The sun soon drew his attention to the shadows on the pavement, making him focus on just how quickly they grew—attempting to reach out and drag him under with dark, deliberate fingers. The long stretches of land turned into miles that he still had yet to travel. The horizon was an unreachable finish line; and _Castiel_ —Castiel was the starting-pistol that never seemed to fire.

                “I imagine … you probably would like to be going now” Castiel breaks in— _and the race begins_.

                Dean frowns and nods at the gravel, adjusting his body against the Impala’s hood. He watches as Castiel does the same beside him. “Yeah … _probably_.”

                “I’m sor—”

                “If you say _I’m sorry_ one more time, Cas—I swear, I’m gonna scream.” He had meant for it to sound like a joke, but when he turns the man, he looks stricken.

                “Oh …” Castiel starts, and Dean thinks he just stopped himself from apologizing yet again.

                “Hey … _no_ , I wasn’t serious, I just mean … you got nothing to be sorry for.” Dean turns to face the fretting friend at his side while still staying tilted against Baby’s hood. “I just really hate seeing you look so down all the time—you’re far too pretty to be lookin’ so sad.” Dean smiles assuredly, until he realizes what he had just said—his own eyes widening as he watches Castiel’s burst. “I—I mean …” he goes over all the excuses he _could_ say. He could tell Cas that he just liked his smile better; that he looked good when he smiled … _although,_ that leaves him in kind of the same place he’s in now. He could say it’s just an expression, or he could say it was another one of his stupid jokes. And Dean almost _does_ say that, but—what’s the point? He’s about to leave and never see this man again. They’re out in the middle of nowhere. No one is watching. What is there to really lose or gain? He might as well just say _to hell with it_ and speak his mind unashamedly for once. With another, settling, deep breath, Dean inches in just _a little_ closer—letting his eyes flit to Castiel’s lips. “I just meant, you have a very nice smile. I like it.”

                “You do?” Cas whispers, sounding breathless and unsure.

                It makes Dean grin. “Yeah. I like _a lot of things_ about you.”

                Castiel squints his eyes, only to open them wider as they dart all about Dean’s face; and for a moment, he looks as if he’s about to speak, _but he doesn’t._

                Dean sighs. “I didn’t think that … that I’d end up enjoying myself so much, especially after Baby broke down, but I did _,_ and that’s because of _you_.” He swiftly places a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Thanks, Cas … for everything.”

                He’s not sure what his intentions were with all of this—maybe just to clear his own conscience, or maybe just to make Castiel feel better, or maybe a combination of all that and more, but he wasn’t expecting anything to come from it beyond a soft smile and a nod on Castiel’s part—maybe a hug, if Dean was lucky. The _last thing_ he would ever expect however, would be for Castiel to knock his hand off of his shoulder and shove Dean back against the hood of the car, gathering up the front of his shirt in closed fists while ducking down and hovering just above his face—lips grazing lips, hints of sugar and caffeine mixing on the tips of tongues that now lingered only a breath from one another. Dean would've never expected to be gawking, wide eyed at the wild man now pinning him down, but that’s exactly what he’s doing now—and if he wasn’t so damn shocked, he would've noticed just how hard he is too.

                “Cas?” he breathes, already starting to close the space between their bodies.

                But the sound of Dean’s voice seems to snap Castiel out of it. The other man immediately yanks his hands away—letting Dean go, leaving his shirt rumpled across his heaving chest. Blue eyes shake as weary feet stumble backwards, and nothing but pure-fear coats the other man's eyes, making him look naked and exposed to all the harsh realities of what he’d just done.

                Dean feels dizzy, and it spins his tongue into knots, making him unable to talk as he watches Castiel retreat even futher—more and more out of reach.

                “I—I’m so sorry!” Castiel garbles, spinning around only to trip on a rock along the dusty edge of the parking lot. “I’m sorry” he whispers again as he catches himself.

                Dean can only stare as the man’s eyes drag back towards his truck across the way, and before he can stop him, Castiel is marching towards it, leaving Dean to do nothing except let him go. He winces when Cas yanks open the truck’s door, and he cringes when the man slams it closed behind him. He shutters when he hears that angry diesel roar to life—and as the tires squeal with Castiel force, turning them around in order to tear back up the road, Dean can only sink—feeling his stomach drop with the weight of everything that had just happened.

                With a gasp, and some shred of will, Dean straightens out; staring as the tow truck becomes wavy in the distance—his mouth going dry as the words he _should have_ said, die upon his tongue. He blinks against the sun—not sure if it’s the glare or all of _this_ making his eyes burn, but as Castiel finally disappears from view, Dean finds himself muttering. “I told you to stop saying you're sorry.”


	7. Only Details

                “So what happened?”

                “What do you mean?”

                “ _You left_. What happened?”

                “Nothing happened. I just left.”

                Sam groans into the phone, making it extremely obvious that he’s grumpy and Dean is the one who's getting the flack for it. “What'd she do? Did she talk about marriage or something? Did she already have a boyfriend? Did she use _teeth_?”

                Dean pulls his cell back for a minute and just _stares_ at it, confused and slightly worried about what Sam apparently thinks of him and his love-life. “What? _No!_ I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, but there was no girl!”

                “Sure … whatever, Dean. Obviously this chick did _something_ to make you stay there, and now she did something to make you split.”

                Dean grumbles and thinks solemnly about just how right his brother is, minus one, important detail; but he’s not going to tell him that. “No girl. Stayed ‘cause I wanted to, left because I needed to get back on the road. Remember? That’s what my plan was, anyway.  I don’t know why you’re actin' so surprised … and _bitchy_.”

                Sam is quiet for a while and Dean almost thinks he hung up, until his giant, baby brother groans unhappily into the receiver. “Sorry. Jess has just been on my case a lot lately. I mean, I’m baby proofing the house and building cribs while still trying to get in good with my boss at work, and then I’m not sleeping well because Jess is constantly rolling around—and I’m too afraid to move because I don’t want to accidently push her belly … and then _the dream_ , I’m just—”

                “Woah, wait. You didn’t have the dream _again_ , did you?”

                “ _No_ … no” Sam sighs, sounding slightly relieved. “I’m just worried that I _will._ I don’t want to freak Jess out with it … not _now_. She’s already freaking out over everything. I mean, I don’t blame her—I already told you about her mom, right?”

                Dean frowns. “Yeah, yeah … you did.” Although, he wishes he hadn’t. It certainly isn’t helping Dean’s concern for this kid, knowing that all the women in Jessica’s family have had problems with bringing babies to term. From Dean’s understanding, Jess’s mother probably had it the worst. She was lucky and had Jess right on her due date—so maybe she thought she dodged the bullet or something; but then she tried to get pregnant again and lost the baby early. The next time she tried, she got to seven months and the baby was still born. She swore she wasn’t going to try for another after that, but her and her husband had an “oops” moment, and the third child was lost at five months. Most would say Jessica is an only child, but her mother just says she has a lot of heavenly siblings.

                “She panicked a couple months ago, but now that she’s seven months in—she’s _losing_ _her mind_. I don’t know how to calm her down. Everything I do is wrong. I don’t … I don’t want to lose the b—”

                “Hey! No, _stop."_ Dean straightens out behind the Impala’s steering wheel—pressing the phone harder to his ear and staring furiously into the distance. "Don’t you dare say another word. Don’t even _think_ _it_ , okay? That boy in there is a _Winchester_.  Now, that means he’ll probably have a bad temper and make more dirty jokes than anyone should ever possibly make, but he’ll _make them._  He’ll come out swingin’ and he won’t stop for many, many, many years! Okay? He’s gonna be _fine_ … Sammy, your son is gonna be fine!”

                Sam inhales—small, and fragile. “ _My son_ …”

                Dean smiles. “That’s right, Sammy … you’re gonna have a _son_.”

***

                He’s going to stop in Syracuse for the night. He’s been driving for over seventeen hours straight and he’ll probably fall asleep at the wheel if he doesn’t find a motel soon. He didn’t feel the exhaustion for quite a while—his worry over the call with Sam, and then of course, everything with Cas, kept him wide awake for hours. He made some good time because of it though, so at least there’s _that._

                The route he drove wasn’t the one he was planning on taking, either. He had never driven up I-90 before. It was a beautiful drive—he could see the great lakes in the distance just as the sun was setting on the other side. It was something that he could probably stop and just stare at for a while, but he wanted to make it to New York by midnight, at least—and waiting around to take in nature wasn’t going to help him do that. Besides, it would just remind him that he _isn’t_ doing all the things that he originally wanted to do. Watching sunsets is a far cry from bar-hopping in Nashville, or flirting with the bikini-clad women on a Georgian beach.  He also heard of a fun place in Raleigh where a friend of a friend grows a nice selection of “herbs” … and _hell_ , Dean figured he could partake; but Castiel threw a wrench into all of that. Now, everything Dean had loosely planned fell to the wayside; although, that all fell to the wayside days before—when he was with Cas and they discussed _new_ plans—museums and national parks. There were restaurants and breweries … and Dean didn’t realize it then, but he was excited for those things too; maybe even more so than bars in Nashville or beaches in Georgia. Now however, all he wants to do is get to Manhattan. Why he even wants to be _there_ , he has no clue … but that was his selected destination, of sorts; and anywhere else will be too much of a reminder of his old life and old possibilities. Manhattan at least, won’t resemble anything he’s used to. No fields … no tractors, no friendly old folk following the same routine day in and day out.

                No family.

                No friends … _no Cas._

                _No Cas._ Dean repeats the thought in his head. _No Cas. No Cas._ He repeats it until it becomes less of a _fact,_ and more of a _command_. _No Cas—never Cas. You can’t have Cas._ Not that he doesn’t _want_ him, but the little incident at the gas station made one thing very, abundantly clear— _Cas would be complicated._ It wouldn’t just be a matter of distance and sacrificing his road trip to be together— it would be coming to terms with what _being with him_ actually meant. People wouldn’t just look at them and think “Aw, what a cute couple.” They would harass them. They would freak out—Dean would have to keep their dating secret from the world—probably from Sam too. He doesn’t know how people back home would react if he was suddenly in a relationship with a _man_. 

                Dean laughs at himself – _relationship._

_Way to jump the gun, Winchester._

 All that might be a problem or it might _not_ be— Dean isn’t sure. He has never really cared about what other people thought of him, so he knows that those things are mostly just easy excuses. The _actual_ truth is: Cas didn’t seem too up for anything in the first place. He didn’t seem ready to face what he was feeling—which is _hilarious_ , because Dean thought _he_ was the king of avoiding, but Cas took that crown right off his head. He damn near kissed Dean and then ran like hell, scared out of his mind. Dean doesn’t blame him … _shit_ , he’s doing the same thing right now. That’s just it though—how can two, scared people who are always running in opposite directions, ever get close enough to explore anything? _They can’t._  There's no point. Dean left Kansas to get away from complications, to get away from the failures in his life. He doesn’t need to try and jump into something that’s as totally new as an _alternative sexuality_ , especially when it looks like that boat is already sinking on its own. If it’s already falling apart before anything even happens … why is he going to stick around and pursue it?

                He won’t.

                That’s dumb and something that the _old_ Dean would do.

                He’s new and improved. He’s growing up. He’s learning his lesson.

                He’s going to get to Manhattan and figure things out from there.

                _That’s the plan._

***

                He found a decent-looking motel near the center of Syracuse. It was within his price range and seemed fairly well-kempt on the outside, so the inside couldn’t be too bad. Even if it was though, Dean was too tired to care at that point. Once he got the room key, he stumbled inside and fell face down onto the bed—passing out before he could even brush his teeth or change his clothes.

                The position proves unwise, however—because when he wakes up to the sound of loud, thumping music, he has a serious crick in his neck.

                “Oh, come on!” he groans, pulling himself up and rubbing at his shoulder. He hobbles over to the window and looks outside to find the source of the noise, only to notice a bunch of neon lights and a sign saying “Trexx” over the open doors to a large boxy building. A long line of people has built up outside—and one by one, they disappear within once their ID’s are checked by the rather muscly man standing just behind the velvet ropes.

                Figures— _no wonder this motel was so cheap_. Dean just thought he stumbled upon a good deal, when actually—no one can get a good night’s sleep when they’re getting shaken out of bed by a pounding bass. At least he got a _few_ hours before it all started. Dean watches a little longer, vaguely registering the types of people in the line, while mostly concentrating on how he’s planning to actually rest if he stays here. It's only after another few minutes of thought, and only once he wakes up some more, that he notices that the people in the line are mostly _men_. There are some women, but those women have their arms draped around _other_ women. Some of the men have their arms draped around other men—and, _yep … those two dudes are kissing._

                Dean almost swallows his tongue.

                _Why_ … why did he have to choose a motel next a _gay club_? Of all the places in all the state—he chose _here_?

                Is God laughing at him right now? This has to be a cosmic joke because _no one_  can be _this_ unlucky.

                 Just then, he sees one of the men in the line pull the guy he is standing with, away and around the corner from the door—beyond all the eyes in the crowd, but not beyond _Dean’s_. One of them—slightly shorter, with darker hair, shoves the other guy against the wall to the club and attacks his mouth like it personally offended him. Dean watches as the shorter man then begins to sink, kissing the other’s neck—dropping further and further, pushing up his shirt, licking his stomach, until he finally reaches the waistband of his jeans. Soon, the taller man’s pants are undone and his cock is pulled out to greet the open air. The shorter one looks at it a moment, apparently admiring the thing before he gobbles it down. Dean barely breathes as he stares at the two—the taller one lulling his head back against the wall and then running his hands through the dark head of hair that’s bobbing up and down beneath him.

                Part of him wants to turn away, but the majority— anchors his feet in place and keeps him standing at that window, just  _watching_ these two guys and their dirty deeds. It's making Dean delve into a level of _perv_ he never knew he could reach. _Yeah_ , he’s watched more porn than he would ever care to admit—and yeah, he’s even watched some gay-stuff … but he rarely watched it all the way through. This was different though;  This was _real_. There was no pause button, and he couldn’t just click the corner of the window to make this all go away; and even if he could … he doesn’t want it to go away. _Fuck_ , all he wants to do right now is _watch_ and … and fucking _touch himself_ , because like it or not, he’s as hard as a god damn rock and he might break the zipper to his jeans if he doesn’t whip out his dick and relieve some of this tension.

                So that’s what he does.

                He’s going to hell … he’s sure of it now, but now that his fingers are stroking up the head of his cock, he’s also sure that he doesn’t care.

                His fist sets a steady rhythm, and he stares, shaking and exposed at the window as the other two men enjoy themselves. It’s dirty and raw and _oh_ , so fucking good—until the taller man apparently comes. In an instant, he zips himself back up again and the shorter man stands, and they go back around the corner—repositioning themselves in the line like nothing happened at all.

                Dean gapes, cock still aching but now—stilted just shy of release.

_No! Come on!_

                He might be able to muscle himself into coming if he tries hard enough, but he’s just so fucking _disappointed_ —it won’t feel very good. He wanted to come _with_ them … with his two, little playmates who didn’t know they were playing with him.

                _Damnit! Fucking, shit mother fucker! Fuck!_

His cock starts to sag, but his balls ache and he’s anything but tired now—he’s angry and pent up, and he didn’t even bring his computer out from the car, so he can’t really look at porn—not that this place has Wi-Fi anyway. And … he thinks, porn just won’t do it for him now.

                Dean wants to be _touched_. He wants to be touched like that tall guy out there was being touched … he wants to know what it’s like.

                _Shit_ … he needs a drink.

***

                The 7-11 down the block had just what he needed. Now, with one forty down, and another—halfway empty, Dean is feeling kind of good. He’s on that _happy-side_ of drunk that lets him forget about all those pesky things like _responsibilities_ and _sensible choices_ , and it makes him relax and just go with the flow.

                And that flow takes him right through the front doors of Trexx.

                The music is deafening and the smell of cologne and hair gel is suffocating, and he can barely move through to the bar without getting grinded from every angle … but he’s too drunk and too determined to turn back. Once at the bar, a pretty eyed bartender takes his order, giving him a wink and calling him “cutie” before setting off to get his drink. It makes Dean blush, even though the kid isn’t really his type … not that he’s sure he even _has_ a type when it comes to dudes. He likes Cas, _sure_ —but does that mean Cas is his type? He has pretty eyes too—but it’s more than that. He’s also got a pretty body, and a deep voice and he’s smart, but he’s not showy about it … and, _fuck._ Dean is starting to get hard again and he knows he can't do anything to help himself now, so he turns around and tries to focus on the crowd of gyrating bodies.

                The strobe lights and fog machines make it hard to discern one face from the next, but he can at least tell between bodies—who’s a man, who’s a woman … who is built and who is scrawny. Dean doesn’t think he likes the scrawny ones … _too boyish_. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t like the bartender. He doesn’t want someone who makes him feel old and fat. He wants someone who will be solid beneath him—who can take what he wants to give. _Cas could probably take it._

                _Shit, no—stop._

Dean attempts to shake the thought away, but he’s distracted by a tap on his shoulder.

                “Here ya go, cutie!”

                Dean turns to see the bartender handing him a tumbler full a whiskey. He should probably stick with beer, but he’s in a fucking _gay bar_ for Christ’s sakes … his list of poor choices is already a mile long, what’s one more? “Thanks. What do I owe ya?”

                “This one's on me. Every newbie gets the first drink, free.”

                Dean frowns a little. “Am I that obvious?”

                The bartender grins and winks at him again. “Oh, honey— _yeah_.”

                “Shit …”

                “It’s okay. Everyone was new to this at some point. The key is not to overthink things. Just have fun!”

                Dean nods and gives the guy a smile in _thanks_ , and the young bartender laughs and reaches out to pat his arm as Dean rests it on the bar.

                “Besides, you already gaining some attention …” The man’s pretty eyes flit over Dean’s shoulder, making him turn back around and notice a guy, dancing slowly in a blue button up who's looking his way. Dean rounds back in a panic and stares at the bartender—face,  pleading for help. The kid just laughs. “You’re lucky … he’s a popular one. Just, be careful though, honey. You’re fresh meat around here and some guys get carried away when they think they get to break someone in.”

                “Not really helping, dude” Dean gulps, following it up by gulping down the whiskey. “Give me another, would ya?”

                The bartender shakes his head at him, but is still smiling. “Alright … just being realistic though.”

                Dean nods and then peeks back over his shoulder at the other man—and those eyes are still on him, raking Dean’s body up and down, making him feel like freshly tilled soil. The bartender returns with the bottle of jack and fills up Dean’s tumbler again. It’s gone almost instantly—making the bartender frown.

                “Slow down. I know you’re nervous, but you don’t want to make yourself stupid.”

                Dean laughs sarcastically. “Too late for that” he mutters, and then Dean finally turns his back to the bar—taking a few, weary steps towards the man that’s been eye-fucking him for the last few minutes.

                “Hey” the guy says, once Dean is close enough to hear him.

                “Hi” Dean croaks, feeling his heart leap into his throat. It’s pounding so hard, he thinks he might just throw it up onto this dude’s expensive-looking shirt.

                “I’m Jonas. What’s your name?” the man asks while still bouncing to the music.

                Dean watches him a moment, eyes following his movements—looking him over to try and get a sense of him— _well_ , the best he can in spite of how drunk he is. Jonas is about his height, but he seems longer in the torso than Dean is, and his chest isn’t quite as broad—but he still seems pretty built. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and his forearms appear to be nicely toned. His skin is fair—a contrast to the brown stubble lining his jaw. He has an attractive face and dark eyes that are severe and terrifying in all the good kind of ways. They stare intensely into Dean’s, and he finds that he can’t really look away once he meets them. “I’m … _uh_ , I’m Dean.”

                “First time?” Jonas asks, dancing closer to him and leaving them little space to breathe freely.

                Dean stands stalk-still as he watches the other man bob. “Yeah.”

                “Well, don’t worry—just stick with _me_ and you’ll be fine” Jonas laughs, lifting his arms higher and moving them with the _thud_ of the bass.

                Dean grins nervously, but still doesn’t budge.

                “Come on, Dean! Move a little! Loosen up! It’ll be fun, I promise!” Jonas smiles at him and then drops his arms onto Dean’s shoulders, circling them loosely around the back of his neck and pulling him in even closer. “Just move with me.”

                Dean gasps when Jonas juts forward, slamming their waists together, forcing Dean’s hips to move from side to side with the sheer will of his own. “ _Um_ …”

                “That’s it, baby,  just move with me” Jonas whispers, leaning in closer to Dean’s face so he doesn’t have to yell.

                Dean can only nod and stare down at the zero-space between their bodies. _How the fuck did that happen?_

                “You’re really hot, you know that? I saw you as soon as you walked in and I couldn’t take my eyes off you” Jonas purrs, leaning his forehead onto Dean’s very sweaty one.

                “Yeah?” Dean mutters, closing his eyes—trying to breathe through the emerging panic attack.

                “ _Oh yeah_. You had the attention of _a lot_ of guys in this place. They all want you, Dean.”

                Dean swallows hard, shaking his head with doubt.

                “It’s true. _But_ —they wouldn’t know how to take care of you. They wouldn’t know how to make you feel the way _I_ can make you feel.”

                He wants to shake his head again, but he can’t because suddenly, he feels lips on his lips and a tongue pressing through them to lap him up. He’s stunned for a second, but Jonas is too insistent, and soon—Dean is matching him, licking and biting back, hungrily.

                Jonas smiles against his mouth, finally pulling away—much to Dean’s disappointment. “Slow down, baby. We got to pace ourselves. You want to enjoy this, don’t you?”

                Dean nods, but his eyes are still closed. It’s easier that way. Less to think about—and like the bartender said, the key is not to think too much.

                “Alright … what do you say we get out of here? We could go back to my place … I could call us a cab.”

                Dean shakes his head, reaching down to adjust the hardness in his jeans. “No—got a room across the street.”

                “Oh, convenient!  You want to go there?”

                Dean nods again, but he knows—deep down, he really has no clue. His dick is making all the choices right now—aided by whiskey and all those years of repressed desires.

                He hears Jonas laugh. “Alright then, baby. _After you_.”


	8. Intersections

                The sun breaks in through the curtains—still pushed apart from when he stood at the window the night before. A reminder of the last sober-decision he made. There’s a stabbing pain in his temples and as he blinks away his blurred vision to look at the ceiling of the motel room, he feels as if the world isn’t quite real. There's a haze over it all, like he’s looking into a television screen and everything beyond it is just fantasy … his _memories_ are fantasy. _They have to be._ It all had to be a strange dream. There’s no way he'd get drunk and do … do—do _that._

_It’s not possible._

                Dean coughs and it makes his head hurt even more—and it sends a wave of bile rushing up his throat. He throws back the covers as fast as he can, quickly rolling off the bed and stumbling the entire way to the bathroom. He scurries across the tile and sticks his head over the toilet seat—just in time for all that burning, rancid liquor to come sloshing out. He heaves and coughs, grimacing as it comes out of his nose and drips down into the porcelain bowl. With exhausted fingers, he reaches for the toilet paper and rolls some off, crumpling it in his fist so he can wipe his face clean. After a few more coughs, he flushes it all away—hoping that that was the worst of it, that everything that happened last night could just be pushed out and flushed down like all that booze; but as he hoists himself up and stumbles back to the bed, the small piece of paper resting on his night stand shows him that there will be _no_ forgetting; that last night is part of his life now—like it or not.

                Dean rushes over and snatches the paper off the wood, smashing Jonas’s phone number into his palm before he tosses it into the trashcan next to the bed; but that doesn’t seem good enough. Deranged, he kicks the can across the side of the room, leaving a decent sized dent in the plastic; but it’s _still_ there. The phone number, the memories—the ache in the back of his throat, bruised and swollen from Jonas’s dick.  The _click_ in his knees from grinding them on the motel carpet for the better part of an hour. The twinge at the base of his skull where Jonas had his hand curled— pulling Dean's head in again and again.

                And again, his stomach roils.

                In no time at all, he's back on the bathroom floor, trying once more to throw it all up. Throw up the memories of him telling Jonas to _use_ him. The memories of Jonas’s smile; of the man’s fingers reaching down and grabbing Dean's ass. The memories of those fingers then dipping _into_  him—and the memories of the burn and stretch that followed.

                _No._

It’s the only word he can think of—the exact _opposite_ of everything he said last night. When he should have just told Jonas _no … I don’t want to leave with you_ , he grunted " _yes"_ straight into the man’s mouth.

                _“You’re an eager one, aren’t you?”_

_“You like it when I do that?”_

_“Do you want me, Dean?”_

Every one of Jonas’s questions replay in his head at once, along with every one of his own answers—always the same. Always certain.

                _“Yes.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Yes!”_

Dean vomits again. He vomits from the disgust with himself. He can’t even play the victim—Jonas did everything that Dean asked him to do … that he _begged_ him to do. He brought this all on himself.

                He didn’t want to be that _old Dean_ anymore—and he wishes he could find some solace in that fact that last night— _he wasn’t._

                But he wasn’t _new and improved_ , either.

                He was _broken_ and _worse_.

                He was _nothing_.

***

                He stares blankly out onto the freeway entrance. The yellow lines between the lanes zip by— too fast to count, but he still tries. _One, two—twenty—one hundred and seventy five._ He counts all the way to Manhattan, until the lines become too chaotic to keep track of anymore. Every inch of pavement is partially covered by quick-paced feet or cab tires ... homeless people, forgotten next to trashcans. He could look up, try to lose himself in the height of the buildings because— _isn’t that what you’re supposed to do in New York?_

                But the one time he tried, the pain in his neck snapped his focus back to the ground.

                The Impala inches through traffic—the narrow lanes, making Dean’s heart race, worried that the sides of his baby may scratch against the cars beside him. Other people—strangers, so close he can tell their eye color through their driver’s side windows. A man in a BMW catches him staring and flips Dean off before turning left onto another, just-as-busy road.

                _Why did I want to come here?_

                Dean doesn’t even know where he’s going, but the journey is no longer exciting or _worth it._ All he sees is grey and garbage and insanity—from the streets, to the people standing in the middle of them, holding up signs that say “You are all sinners!”

                _This is hell._

                He drove straight into hell.

                Where is the beauty he promised himself? Where is the happiness and the adventure?

                A traffic light goes from red to green, and then back to red before the car in front of him can even clear the intersection—and Dean cusses at the thing, like it has the ears to hear him.

And that's when he realizes… he didn’t promise himself beauty, and he certainly didn’t promise himself happiness.

                There was only _adventure_ , and that is a word that always dances on the razor’s edge. It is not predisposed to be _good._ There's rarely ever treasure at the end of the map, but there _is always_ hurt and pain along the way. He wanted something different from what he knew, but as he sits here—side-eyeing a man who is cleaning windshields with a dirty newspaper, just hoping for some spare change in return, Dean realizes that the only things that ever promised him happiness and beauty, were the things he left behind.

                Sam’s laugh.

                Jessica’s growing baby-bump.

                The smell of an engine when it roars back to life for the first time after being silent for years.

                Watching the wide fields of Kansas get swept with wind.

                A sudden, gaping divide splits him open. He begins to cry— Dean grips the steering wheel tighter, forcing himself not to wipe the tears away.

                He may not have been able to vomit the pain out, but crying—for whatever reason, is easing it. He doesn’t care who sees him either. He doesn’t know these people. They don’t care about _him_.

                The homeless man with the newspapers steps up to Dean’s window, but when he looks in and sees Dean’s face, he backs away once more and moves onto the next car.

                _Great._

                He’s crazier than the crazies—but oddly, that’s a comfort to him.

                He doesn’t belong here.

                He never did.

                And at the next left turn— Dean turns the Impala around, heading back the way he came, determined to get out of Manhattan just as quickly as possible.

***

                I-78 turns into I-81 and it’s pretty much a straight shot from there to highway 64; which runs back to I-70 and on into Kansas. It’s the most direct route he can think of to get home, and Dean is sure that he needs _direct_ right now or else he might just pussy out. Although, he’s already pussying out by going back to Lawrence—so would it be so bad to puss out from pussying out?

                _Whatever._

He _wants_ to go home; so if he wants it, _why fight it?_

                He thinks about calling Sam and telling him that he’s coming back—but he knows his little brother too well. Even though Sam has wanted this since before Dean had even left, the guy would be concerned about his older brother suddenly changing his mind; especially since he was once so emphatic about leaving. Sam will get worried—tell Dean that it’s okay to be scared, it’s okay to be homesick, and that, if he really _needs_ to go out and find himself, then it won’t be easy but he should stick to it.

                Sam will change his mind _again_ —and Dean is sick of changing his mind.

                Maybe going home is the safe thing to do and maybe he'll regret it the moment he passes that “Welcome to Lawrence” sign, but he doesn’t care. It’ll be easy enough to leave again if he has to.

                The miles pass by slowly, a lot more slowly than they did coming up. Every time he looks in his rearview, it seems like he can still see the tops of those high-rises, with Jonas’s smile hovering somewhere in between them. It all makes him push the Impala even harder, speeding her down the road—just trying to get away from it all; get away from the guilt. He feels even guiltier now than he did when he woke up this morning. If last night didn’t go the way it did, then the thought of Jonas’s smile might actually be kind of _nice_. Dean imagines he wouldn’t have ever actually _hung out_ with the man had they met under different circumstances, Jonas just didn’t have the type of personality (what little he can remember of it) that would make Dean feel easy and comfortable enough just to sit with him and have a beer—but he certainly had a face that Dean wouldn’t mind staring at for a while. The guy was attractive. He wasn’t— _unfriendly_ either, but he was a mistake all the same. A mistake that falls completely on Dean’s shoulders. It’s not Jonas’s fault that Dean stumbled in there—so his face shouldn’t make Dean want to punch it; but every time that cut jaw-line and those dark eyes flash back into his memory, he grits his teeth—breathing through his nose, just trying to calm down his anger.  Jonas is just the scapegoat for all this—he _knows_ that, but the wound is still too fresh to be mature about any of this. He's going to keep mentally kicking the shit out of that attractive bastard from the club, because Dean just doesn’t have enough strength right now to kick the shit out of himself.

***

                The highway sign on the side of the lane says “Winchester – Next Eight Exits” and Dean suddenly finds that he's smiling to himself. Winchester Virginia was a place that his dad talked about going to for a long, long time. Dean had looked it up once. There’s not really much to it—except for it being the hub for a lot of truck routes. It also has an apple-festival every year and of course, a crap ton of civil war sites; but other than that … nothing all too interesting. He asked John once, _why_ Winchester meant so much to him—and he remembers the shiny glint that came to his father’s eye when he looked down at him and said “Because, son— _it’s_ _Winchester._ ”

                He’s _still_ not sure why that made it so special.

                Dean moves to the slow lane so he can look around some more—it's the least he can do since he's here. From over the barriers, he can see all the different colored trees and the tips of church bell towers, some houses and even the town square. It looks old—pretty much _exactly_ what you would imagine if someone said the words “Colonial America”. It looks like a nice town, though. From his view from the freeway, Dean thinks it must be an easy place to live, and that alone has him busting up with the irony. " _Winchester"_ and " _easy"_ never fit well in the same sentence—unless you’re talking about Dean during high school, _but that’s a different story._ Nothing about being a Winchester is easy … and maybe, maybe that’s why John wanted to come here. For once, those two things could go together and actually make sense.

                As more of the town curls at his side, Dean hopes that his dad did manage to make it this far east before he died. He doesn’t know exactly where all the man went to once he left Lawrence, but looking around now—he truly hopes that he got to experience _this_. Dean imagines, that if he did, he came in the spring and saw all the apple blossoms in bloom. He hopes that he walked the streets and felt the history billow up around his feet— he hopes it instilled some pride in the name that the man so often thought to be a burden.  Overall, he just hopes that his father found some reason to smile again.

                Dean sighs and continues on, looking up just in time to see all the signs for the upcoming junctions. _Highway 522_ —which could take him south all the way to Georgia or north, all the way back towards Michigan. Highway 50 goes east and could spit him out just about anywhere along the Atlantic coast. The 340 snakes its way down to Louisiana and if he wanted, he could take the 48 from there and that would lead him back to the 79 … and then he could go on to just about _anywhere_. The numbers and the possibilities keep passing him by, whirring through his mind like a finely tuned engine. It’s actually—all _just a little bit exciting_ , knowing that from _this on_ e spot—he could turn the wheel any which way and go absolutely _any place_ in the country that he wanted.

                 Just then, Dean sees the sign for highway 7, saying “Washington DC - 79 miles”

                His breath gets heavy in his chest.

                That red leather booth in Anna’s bakery comes flooding into his mind—those blue eyes, the soft cream walls … the _promise_ he made. It’s all there again, and he feels a sudden sense of crazed urgency.

_This trip doesn’t have to be all for nothing._

                He _did_ make it to Manhattan like he wanted to, but he didn’t use it like he thought he would. Every other plan he had went right out the window once he rolled it down and went speeding away; but _this_ plan—this one can remain. It’s only an hour added to his drive and ... _he told Cas_ that he would.

                _Winchesters may make a lot of mistakes, but they always try to keep their promises._

                Dean pulls the wheel towards the interchange to highway 7, feeling for once _, pretty good_ about a decision. And all together he realizes that _this_ is probably why his dad always wanted to come here—why he took so much pride in sharing a name with this small, historic, old town.

                It wasn’t because living here is easy.

                It was because _leaving_ here is.

                You can leave and go just about anywhere that you want to go. Being in Winchester means that you are free to do _anything—stay,_ run away … east, west, north, south … windy, straight … fast, slow.

_What do you want?_

        _How do you want to get there?_

                Well, _Winchester has a route to it._

                Dean turns up his music for the first time since he left New York, grinning as _Stairway to_ Heaven’s opening cords ring through his speakers. He taps the wheel in time with the beat and sends his baby hurtling down the freeway and off to the nation’s capital.

                _And he laughs_ … if only Sammy could see him now.

                Giddy out of his mind to be going to a museum.

 

***

                “The mud masons are comprised of five individuals—highly skilled architects that keep the Djenne Mosque, as well as other structures in the mud-city, upright and strong.”

                Dean listened to the tour guide, staring along the walls at the sample pieces built by the masons, as well as the slide show of their photos. Some of the men are old, others are younger—the apprentices to the elders that will take over once they are no longer able to keep up with a workload; and _what_ _a workload_ it is. Since Dean had walked into this exhibit, the guide had been talking about droughts and the waste water epidemic—on top of the government upheaval in Mali, and how it’s all made this small African town nearly impossible to live in. Yet, these masons work _constantly_ to maintain their city. Dean was in awe—to be so dedicated, to have so much responsibility weighing on your shoulders ... to be only _one_ of _five_ that can keep literal walls from crumbling down around families.

                He honestly felt rather stupid for _ever_ complaining about _his_   _own_ current hardships.

                From there, him and his small tour-group moved through the African exhibit. The gilded statues of Egypt left him breathless, and listening to the tribal songs that called out for peace and hope and celebration, made him want to cry. He walked and he took in so many things—animals, fossils, jewels and even the many ways in which to fracture light … it was _overwhelming_ , and stunning … and Dean was so enamored with it all, he could hardly believe that he spent nearly half a day inside this place. It might have been less magical if there were more people around—Dean _hates_ crowds.

                Another reason why he’s still not sure why he wanted to go to New York … but whatever.

                He was lucky when he got to the Smithsonian. It’s the middle of May so all the schools are still in session, and it’s a Monday so not many people other than the few random tourists, are here. The emptiness allowed him to take his time and really comprehend everything that he was seeing; and he thinks that perhaps the usual rush places like this tend to have is why he never liked going with Sam. The kid was always bouncing from one thing to the next—Dean wasn’t even sure how he could learn anything if he only ever spent a few seconds absorbing it before moving on again. Maybe Sam just processed it all quicker than he could, but since he was always chasing his brother around, museums didn’t seem like places of wonder, just large buildings where kids could easily get lost.

                But _now,_ he doesn’t need to chase anyone, and that feels pretty awesome.

 

                “Do you have any questions?”

                Dean turns to look at the tour guide— his face still serene and thoughtful after watching the butterflies flit around his head for the last ten minutes. “Oh, no. Thank you … just watching 'em.”

                The older woman smiles and then looks up to the high branches that reach the roof of the exhibit. This was one of the tour's last stops—a large, glass encased room filled with a dozen species of butterflies and Amazonian plants. “I think this is my favorite part of the tour” she says almost reverently.

                Another butterfly flutters past Dean’s nose and it makes him chuckle. “Why’s that?”

                Kind eyes turn to him and crinkle with a pleasant gleam. “Because there is so much life in here. All day, I'm showing people fossils, or pieces of things that went away so long ago … or things that were never alive to start with; but in _here_ —you can’t take two steps without making life erupt around you.” To demonstrate her point, she runs her hand through a mass of leaves beside them and a cluster of green butterflies that were camouflaged in the brush, soar out and swirl in a frenzy above their heads.

                Dean stares at them—eyes chasing each wing as it beats at the air; and he’s grinning so hard—it makes his face hurt.

                The woman looks back down at him thoughtfully and sighs. “It could be a little cooler in here though, but that’s about my only complaint.”

                “It _is_ warm, isn’t it?” Dean says finally, reluctantly tearing his eyes away as some monarchs join the dancing cloud.

                “It has to be, though. Butterflies thrive in humidity.”

                “I suppose that’s a good thing, then. Keeps _us_ away.” Dean glances overhead once more when a set of blue wings bat slowly past the swarm—higher and higher, as if it could go straight up to heaven.

                The guide squints her brow at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

                Dean shrugs. “If it’s too hot for people, then we won’t stick around to destroy things like this.”

                A small frown replaces the smile once gracing the woman’s face. “That might be true; but if you avoid the heat—you won’t ever _get to_ experience things like this either.”

                The blue butterfly soars back down and lands on a flower that’s blooming right in front of Dean’s chest. “Yeah …” he whispers. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”


	9. Questions

                He pulled off the I-70 just shy of the junction to the 63 so he could grab a bite to eat. Sitting here now in this small, dingy booth—he knows it was no coincidence that he stopped _here_. Highway 63 runs right on up to Huntsville. It would only be a fifteen minute drive from there down the 24 to get into the town—that is, if he chooses to go.

                His brain bounces off the insides of his skull as he mulls over what his next move should be; all while drinking his milkshake and staring out the window to the overpasses that tangle above the side streets.

                “One porterhouse, medium rare—with fries” the waitress leads, seeming to suddenly appear at the end of his table.

                Dean snaps his focus back to her, startled but smiling as soon as he sees the steak. “Oh, yeah. Right here.”

                The waitress plops the plate in front of him and then reaches into her apron pocket to pull out a couple of napkins for him as well.  “Is there anything else I can do for you, darlin’?”

                Dean huffs humorlessly, already cutting into his food. “Unless you can tell me if I’m being a big ol’ idiot, then _nah_ —I’m good.” The body beside him lingers far too long, and it makes him forget his meal for a moment. When he peers up again, he sees the waitress looking down on him in a mildly scolding way that reminds him a little too much of his mother.

                “In my experience, men are _usually_ being idiots—but it’s always for reasons they don’t ever realize.”

                Dean feels his cheeks get hot—this woman’s eyes on him make him feel like he needs to apologize on behalf of his entire gender; but eventually, he settles for something a little less dramatic. “Sorry, didn’t mean to pull you into my crap.”

                The waitress bunches her cheeks up, showing off all her years and laugh lines. “Not a problem, honey.”

                Dean returns the look and then turns back to his meal just as the woman turns to walk away.

                “Oh, but _uh_ …” she begins again, and Dean refrains from eating for a second time, looking up just as she is glancing over her shoulder. “Usually, whenever I feel like _I’m_ being an idiot—it’s because I already know what I _should_ be doing, and I’m just ignoring it.” With that, the waitress shrugs and continues sauntering back to the register, waving hello to another customer just as they walk in through the door.

                Dean gawks—breath, not coming easily; yet, when he finally does inhale, he seems to suck in his food right along with the air—chowing down his steak in record time, while also giving himself a brain freeze from guzzling down his shake. Even with the pain however,  it’s only another ten minutes before he’s back in the Impala, speeding up the onramp and onto the 63.

***

                Dean sits across the street from Lew’s, staring at the store front—watching the old man bustle about inside.

                _Just go in._

_Just go in there and ask him where Cas is._

                Dean’s brain has no success in making him move.

Lew is answering the phone now.  It looks like he nods … now he’s hanging up. _Now_ it looks like—like he’s calling out to someone.

                Dean’s knuckles go white with his death-grip on the wheel.

                _Was that a call for a tow? Is Cas gonna take it? Is he coming out right now?_

_Oh shit._

_Oh fuck!_

A young, pudgy-looking kid walks up to Lew’s counter and begins talking to him.

                Dean deflates into his seat. _Fuck._

                The kid then nods and walks out the front of the shop, twirling some keys on his finger while moseying over to the side of the tow truck … the tow truck that Dean had hoped _Cas_ was driving today.

                _Shit … must be his day off._

                A tap on the driver’s-side window sends Dean flailing around, limbs flapping in the air as he falls rather ungracefully towards the other end of the bench seat. As he twists back and looks up, choking down all the organs that had just leapt into his throat, he sees Castiel, staring at him with wonder through the glass.

                “Jesus fucking Christ!” Dean wheezes, clutching his chest, convinced that he’s seriously about to die.

                “Dean?” Cas’s rough voice is slightly muted by the window.

                “ _Oh my go--  what the? W_ ere you raised by ninjas?” Dean yelps, looking around suddenly, hoping that _no one_ else just saw his horrid display of girliness.

                “No. I was raised by two business owners” Cas corrects, scrunching up his face at Dean’s odd assumption.

                Now, Dean can’t help but smile. “Cas … you’re an idiot.”

                Castiel scrunches even more. “I’m sorry for scaring you—but that is no reason to call me names.”

                And now, he’s laughing … not only because this guy is funny, but—because, Dean isn’t sure why he was ever so worried about talking with him. Talking with Cas is the _easy_ part ... _admitting_ things to Cas, _well_ , that is something else entirely. Dean shakes his head as he pulls himself upright, eventually shuffling back behind the wheel so he can open the door.

                Castiel steps away, allowing Dean the room to get out.

                Once he's standing and looking the other man in the eye, Dean finds, he's grinning and he just can’t stop himself. “Hey, Cas.”

                Cas smiles back, but _his_ seems to be a little weary. “Hello, Dean.”

                “Can we talk? You got time?”

                Those big blue eyes widen, looking panicked now—as if they’re truly surprised by what Dean is asking. “I’m working” he mutters, taking another small step backwards.

                Dean’s grin falters. “Oh … I just thought—” the tow truck’s engine roars at the other side of the street and claws into the middle of Dean’s sentence. He glances back at it and then follows the look with his thumb. “Well—I thought because of _that_ , that meant you were off.”

                Cas nods but waits to respond—watching as the kid drives the truck away. Once the rumbling fades, he begins to speak again. “Lew has me working in the garage today. I’m helping his mechanic with a rebuild, but he needed some batteries for his head lamp—and Lew doesn’t sell those.” He then holds up a small grocery bag that Dean didn’t notice before, as if to prove his intent.

                “Oh” Dean says again, and he knows that he sounds dejected, but he can’t help it. He’s disappointed that he won’t get to talk with Cas _right_ _now_ —when he actually has the nerve to say what he needs to say; and he’s also pretty jealous that the guy is getting to rebuild an engine. _It’s probably in a nice classic too. Shit, I miss my job._

                “I could …” Cas hesitates, looking over Dean’s shoulder towards the shop. “I could ask Lew if he wouldn’t mind me taking my lunch _now._ Would that be sufficient?”

                Dean lights up once more, bobbing his head before he even finds the words. “Yeah—man, if you can do that, that’d be great!”

                Cas shows him another smile, but it’s still off— _unsure_ , and Dean makes it his goal to change that before he heads home. “Alright, I will go ask Lew. Please wait here.”

                Dean nods and Cas walks away, carefully crossing the street, clutching the grocery bag close before he enters the shop. Once inside, he goes straight up to Lew, handing him the bag as he begins speaking with him—so Dean waits, propping his arms onto the roof of his baby, letting his mind wander with how this is all going to go.

                Maybe they’ll head back to Anna’s … or maybe they won’t eat at all. Dean’s not really hungry after inhaling all eleven ounces of that steak, but Cas might be.

                  _Maybe I can buy him lunch._

Castiel and Lew continue talking for a few minutes, and then a few more—and the length of their conversation begins to make Dean worry.

                _What if Lew won’t let him go? Would he really do that? He doesn’t seem like the type of boss to care about that kind of thing. But what if Cas doesn’t want to go? What if he’s only pretending to ask … he wouldn’t do that, would he? Shit … he did look nervous. Am I making him nervous? Is that a good thing?_

Just then, he sees Castiel nod and move around to walk back outside; still looking both ways and before carefully crossing the street.

                “Lew allowed me to take my lunch now” he says, stopping at the passenger door of the Impala.

                Dean feels his heart begin to pound again, but this time—it’s with excitement. “ _Yeah_? I—I was thinkin’ that you might not be able to. You guys were talkin’ for a minute.”

                Cas hums and then pulls on the door handle, popping it open so he can get inside.

                Dean quickly jumps back and does the same, scurrying into his place behind the wheel so that he can watch the other man get in. _Why_ watching Castiel get into his car is so thrilling for him, Dean isn’t sure … but his body heats up the moment the man’s back touches the leather.

                “Yes …” Castiel continues once he’s settled and shutting the door. “Lew was telling me that I did not have to clock back in if I didn’t want to. Jeffery— _his mechanic,_ is perfectly capable of doing the rebuild on his own … I was just helping for the experience.”

                “Oh?”

                “I would _still_ _like_ the experience, however—so I told him that I would be back at the end of the hour.”

                “ _Oh_.” Dean turns away and feels absent mindedly for his keys in the ignition. He thought, just for a moment, that he would have more time with Castiel … and that maybe, Castiel wanted to have more time with _him_ , but that doesn’t seem to be the case. Not at all.

                “Would you like to begin talking here, or would you like to go somewhere else?”

                Dean lets go of the keys once more— now, unsure of anything and everything. “Oh, _uh_ … up to you, I guess. I mean, are ya hungry? It is _your_ lunch and all.”

                “I am not particularly hungry, no. I had a large breakfast at Anna’s and that was only two hours ago.”

                Dean nods. He forgot that it was still fairly early. He drove all night and hasn’t actually slept since after everything with Jonas … he just hasn’t felt tired enough.  “Oh, yeah … okay. So— _uh_ …”

                “If you don’t want to talk here, there is a nice walking path at the southern end of town … near the large park.”

                “Yeah—yeah, I remember seeing it the other day.”

                “You did?”

                “Yeah, when you had to leave during lunch … I walked around for a bit. It was nice.”

                Castiel looks down at his hands, folded in his lap, and it makes Dean glance away—he doesn’t like seeing the guy seem so awkward. “It is.”

                With a sigh, Dean starts the engine. “Okay, it’s settled. Let’s head there then.”

***

                Star jasmine is blooming everywhere and it’s filling the small clusters of trees with scents that remind Dean of home. His mother had some jasmine out in front of their house—the house that he lived in for the majority of his childhood … the house that they had to sell when their dad lost his job. That’s when Dean first started looking for work—he was only fourteen, but thankfully, the folks around town didn’t mind letting him do odd jobs here and there. Soon, he was contributing a large portion of the rent for their new place. It was a nice, old craftsman … smaller, but nice all the same. It just never really felt like _home_.

_There was no jasmine._

“I went to the Smithsonian” Dean says finally. He and Cas had been walking for almost ten minutes and neither of them had spoken a word.

                “You did? Already?” Cas sounds surprised.

                “Yeah—told ya I would.”

                “You told me that just over _two days_ ago. I wasn’t expecting you to have done it so soon.”

                Dean shrugs and then cranes his head back to look up through the branches of the trees, wincing a bit when he feels that his spine is still aching. “Yeah.  Well, New York wasn’t what I thought it would be, so I headed back. Stopped in Virginia on the way.” He slows when he feels Castiel stop walking beside him. And when Dean turns his head to look at the man, he finds Cas staring back at him—mouth hanging open.

                “You drove _all the way_ to New York, and then to Virginia and now—back here in _two_ days?”

                Dean laughs, because it does sound insane. “Yep.”

                Cas babbles a second and then blinks rapidly. “Did you not sleep at all?”

                “ _Um_ … not much, no.”

                “Dean, that can’t be healthy!”

                He laughs some more because Castiel sounds truly concerned. Dean won’t mention that he rarely gets much sleep these days … that certainly won’t help things. “ _Eh_ , it’s fine.”

                “No, it’s not! You should go back to Maggie’s this instant and get another room. You need rest.”

                “What? Oh—no, no, no! I ain’t goin’ back to that place! Not even if ya paid me!” Dean shudders when he recalls Mrs. Mason’s surly scowl and how the last time she was just about two seconds away from physically throwing his ass out the door.

                Castiel steps in closer. “Why not?”

                Dean’s stomach tightens with the new proximity, and he finds himself staring a bit too long at Castiel’s lips. “Long story, man. Don’t worry about it.”

                His companion appears to all at once acknowledge just how close he’s standing, because no sooner is he backing away again. Then they both fall silent once more, and if not for the pleasant songs from the birds jumping around the meadow, it might just be unbearable.

               “So—did you enjoy the museum?” Cas eventually mutters, standing too still among the swaying trees.

                Dean shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks from heel to toe. “Yeah … I did, actually. Kinda surprised _how much_ I did.”

                Castiel smiles softly at that, and it makes Dean bolder.

                “They had these mud sculptures … well, more like mud _buildings_ , but they were _amazing_. These five guys are in charge of keeping all these structures upright. It was pretty intense. I mean, they were in charge of them in Africa … not the ones in the museum. I guess they could be in charge of those too—but I doubt they fly back and forth. That’d … that’d be weird.”

                “Is … is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

                Dean is already feeling stupid for rambling, but Castiel’s words knock him completely dumb. “What?”

                “You said that you wanted to talk; and I don’t mean to rush you but I only have thirty five minutes left in my break and … well, I don’t think you came all the way back here to tell me about the mud masons.”

                _Shit._

                Dean digs his nails through his pockets on into his thighs—he hadn’t even realized he’d been avoiding this, but he _has_ _been_. With a bite to his lip, he attempts to move closer to Castiel once more, because he wants to whisper. He wants to stay calm and quiet—as much as he can with _this guy_ around, making him feel like he’s always on the verge of itching out of his own skin.  “No … I didn’t want to talk about the museum. I … I wanted to talk about what happened at the gas station.”

                Blue eyes quickly shy away, and Castiel almost moves back some more, but Dean catches him by the shoulder, not wanting him to run—he’s already seen him do that once.

                “ _Don’t_ … Cas, I want to know … know why—”

                “Why I nearly kissed you?” Cas breathes, all while looking down at the ground between their feet.

                Dean squeezes that firm shoulder beneath his fingers, and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s surprised that Cas just came right out with it, or because he’s trying to comfort the guy; but he’s hoping it comes off as the latter. “Yeah … yeah, I guess.”

                But apparently, the squeeze wasn’t enough because Castiel pulls away, walking towards the tree line a few paces before finally turning back around. “I’m sorry, Dean. What I did was inappropriate. I am not sure why … why I – I” the man sighs and then squares his body, standing straighter as if centering himself. “I promise you, it will not happen again.”

                “Don’t promise me that.”

                The words come out as a growl—sudden and urgent, and they make Castiel lock onto Dean— as if he’s a figure constantly waving in and out of focus.  The other man tilts his head to the side, squinting his eyes while pursing his lips; and then all at once, his shoulders relax beneath the cotton of his button up, and the toe of one of those dress shoes begins to dig into the ground.

                Dean feels his chest tighten as he pushes himself forward—the few steps that they’ve drifted seem like miles, and he finds himself gasping when he finally corners Castiel against the grove of trees edging the trail. “Why would you promise me that?” Dean finally whispers—looking once more at the soft, pink that circles Castiel’s mouth.

                “Because … because—you’re heterosexual.” Cas’s voice pitches up as he leans back, and the statement sounds more like a question.

                It makes Dean laugh. “Am I?”

                Castiel cowers a second longer before seemingly realizing what Dean had said. “Are you?” he’s quickly asking, standing taller and staring at Dean so sternly—it’s as if he’s daring him to lie.

                Being this close, Dean can finally get a really good look at Castiel’s eyes—they’re not just blue, but they also have the tiniest flecks of gold around the edges, with dark lines that only enhance the bright cobalts and sapphires. _Perfect halos_ —and Dean wants nothing more than to know the angel they belong to. “Well … I’m somthin ’… but _heterosexual_ sure as hell ain’t it.”

                Castiel’s face is stoic, unmoving—and now it seems as if the wind has stopped too, leaving the woods just as still. Everything around them appears to be waiting, halting until someone yells _march._  The man across from him then blinks those large, blue eyes—creasing his brow angrily while clenching his jaw. “Dean …” he begins, his tone, as resolute as his stature.

                “Yeah?” Dean responds, feeling a little nervous with whatever this guy is about to say.

                “I am going to kiss you now.”

                Dean lets out the breath he’s apparently been holding— grinning wide and bright. “About fuckin’ time! I thought you were going to say something else! I—”

                “Dean?”

                “Yeah?”

                “Stop talking now.”

                “Yeah, _oka_ —”

                Castiel pushes forward, grabbing Dean’s face between his strong fingers, bringing their lips together— making the entire world finally move again.


	10. What to Do

                The glass facing of the door is his last line of defense, and he tries to focus on his reflection in it rather than the body he sees lingering just on the other side; but soon—two cold eyes rise up to peer at him through the ghostly image of his own chest, and Dean suddenly wishes that the door was iron. He wants it to be thick and heavy—too heavy for him to move so he can reasonably abandon this place as an option. The street behind him bustles happily with the life of the town, oblivious to the deadly standoff that is currently going on.

                Dean attempts to puff out his chest and make himself look larger—more tough, but even _he’s_ not buying it.

                Mrs. Mason’s eyes don’t blink as they stare at him through the glass door.

_Fuck—this is stupid._

                He shouldn’t let one, bitchy old lady stop him. This is a place of business after all, and he has some money in his pockets. It’s also right in the center of town. It’s next to Anna’s. _It’s closest to Cas._ It just makes the most sense to stay _here_.

_Seriously—what’s she gonna do?_

                Dean huffs one last time and then powers through the front door, making the tiny bell somehow ring ominously despite its shiny exterior.

                “ _Get out_ ” Mrs. Mason spits before Dean even has both feet inside.

                Dean stops mid-step and gawks at her. “You can’t be serious!”

                The old woman lifts herself from her seat, fists planted down on the desk-top, slowly grinding the thing into sawdust. “I am. Now _go_.”

                “Why?"

                "Because I said so!"

                Dean squints in disbelief, unsure of what else to say.

                "Are you deaf, boy? I asked you to go!"

                Dean stiffens his jaw and plants himself firmly to the ground, letting the door swing closed behind him. "I’m a paying customer and I’m pretty sure you’re runnin’ a business here" he grits out, shaking his head _—_ determined not to be swayed.

                “Yes, and I have the right to refuse that business to anyone I see fit … or  _unfit._ ”

                "Excuse me?" Dean has never had a more severe urge to punch an old lady in the face, and he knows he should feel guilty about that, but he just can’t make himself. “What the hell is your problem?”

                “You!” Mrs. Mason barks, and then clamps up again—as if that’s all the explanation that’s needed.

                “What the hell did I ever do to you? I mean, _really_? Tell me that! What have I done to piss you off so bad?”

                The woman doesn’t say a word—just slowly gets more and more rigid in her shoes.

                “Didn’t I pay my bill? Didn’t I leave the room in order? Didn’t I treat you with respect even though you _never_ did the same for me?”

                The bell to the door rings behind him and Dean pauses before he can continue his speech. As he turns around, he sees Castiel—smiling at first, but eventually turning somber as he gauges the temperature of the room.

               “Is something the matter?” he asks, stepping up beside Dean and slowly turning to look at Mrs. Mason.

                Dean does the same and then shrugs his shoulders at the old bat, daring her to explain all this, because for what feels like the first time in his life, Dean _knows_ that he’s completely innocent here.

                Mrs. Mason shrinks some, unclenching her fists so she can wring her hands together at her waist. “Oh … Castiel, dear. _Well_ …”

                Dean almost laughs with just how sweet and innocent this woman sounds now.

                Castiel cocks his head at her but she never actually finishes what she’s saying, so he finally turns to face Dean again. “Did you already book your room?”

                He wants to scream n _o!_ He wants to tell Castiel that he can’t because this crazy, ancient bitch for _some_ unknown reason, won’t let him; but instead, Dean grins—remembering what his father always said about bullies. “No, not yet. Mrs. Mason was just about to help me with that.” He then grins pleasantly as he turns back to the woman in question, raising his eyebrows to give her her queue.

                Her nostrils flare and there’s a fire in her eyes, but she stitches on a sickening twist that’s supposed to resemble a smile just before reaching back and grabbing a room key off the hook on the wall. She smacks it down onto the desk a little too forcefully, and it makes both the men flinch. “Of course—here’s your key, Mr. Winchester. Same room as before.”

                Dean takes in a breath, slightly nervous about moving closer—as if a trap door will open up beneath his feet as soon as he steps to the counter, but he risks it. Soon, he’s directly in front of the woman, reaching out for the key that’s still pinned underneath her wrinkled fingertips. He tugs on the edge of the cut metal, but she doesn’t let go right away—glaring into his eyes with threat, silently warning him that she’ll get him back for this later. Dean tries to look unaffected … he hopes he pulled it off.

                “Dean?”

                Castiel’s voice interrupts the fire fight happening across the wood surface and Dean breathes a sigh of relief,  because he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. Mrs. Mason finally lets go of the keys as Dean turns to look at the other man still standing by the door. “Yeah?”

                “Do you want me to get your things from the car and bring them in for you?”

                Dean’s heart beats faster with the thought of being left alone with this staunch, old witch for even one more second, so he furiously shakes his head. “No—I mean, _yeah,_ but I’ll come with you. I think I want to bring up my laptop and stuff too … “ he feels an evil burn within his belly as he wheels around to move towards the door, all the while, looking over his shoulder and back at Mrs. Mason. “You know … since I’ll be staying for _a few days_.”

***

                They both clamor into the room—arms full of bags and various things that Dean had thrown into the Impala before he busted out of Lawrence. He knew that he didn’t need half of this stuff, and he especially didn’t need it all brought up to his room right now, but he wanted to justify telling Cas that he would help him carry it in. After all, it doesn’t really take _two_ men to bring in just a duffle bag and a laptop case.

                Castiel places the stuff onto the table, chuckling afterwards as he accidently drops a deflated pool toy that was mixed in with everything from the trunk. “You know, this establishment doesn’t have a pool—right?”

                Dean blushes as he glances back at the thing on the ground—he had packed it when he still thought he’d be partying in Georgia. _Oh well._ “Oh … it doesn’t?” Dean plays dumb. He _knows_ it doesn’t—Maggie’s Inn is an old tenant building in the middle of a city-block for Christ’s sakes, but the last fifteen minutes have already been bad enough, so he may as well just pretend not to know any better.

                Castiel just chuckles again as he sets down the other bags—some have food in them, others have photos and books, others have random things that really don’t serve _any_ purpose for this trip at all, but Dean couldn’t stand to leave them behind. He turns around just in time to see Castiel pick something out of one of the bags. “What’s this?”

                The small, stuffed lion rests delicately in the man’s hands—as if he somehow knows that it’s special and he must be careful with it. Dean blushes even more. “Oh … _uh_ , that’s … that’s Aslan.”

                Castiel grins down at the thing, and then gently pets its mane. “From the Chronicles of Narnia?”

                “Yeah” Dean grins and walks closer, feeling his blush fade some. “My mom always used to read to me, and those were my favorite books … she brought this home for me one day. Had it ever since.”  He reaches out and pets it too—his hand lightly grazing Castiel’s.

                “I always enjoyed those stories, myself” the man says, passing the stuffed lion over to Dean.

                Dean takes it, resisting the urge to hug it tight—something he often does whenever he’s really missing his mom.  Instead, he just clears his throat and sets it back into the bag from which it came, smiling fondly at it and making a mental note to hug it _extra_ _long_ next time. After a breath he looks back up to Cas, grinning wider, but altogether nervous that now he’s alone in a _motel room_ with this guy. “ _So_ …” he finally says while attempting to coolly lean back against the small, circular table— now covered with his stuff; but instead, he slides along the edge and stumbles backwards, barely catching himself before falling onto his ass.

                Castiel reaches out for him, steadying him by his shoulder, and then is laughing once Dean eventually balances out. “Are you alright?” he asks, still musing and Dean would be mortified if the sound of the man’s humor wasn’t so adorable.

                “Yeah … just being my usual, _smooth_ _self_.”

                Castiel reaches out for him again, but this time—he pulls him close just before tilting up for a kiss.

                Dean’s neck burns and his eyes flutter closed, and soon—he’s wrapping his arms around Cas’s waist, clutching on for dear life.

                “Smooth …” Cas begins, once he finally breaks away to breathe, “is not at all how I would describe _you,_ Dean Winchester.”

                Dean laughs and lifts the other man off the ground, attempting to kiss him again while holding him to his chest. It’s something he always did with Lisa and the moment seemed to call for it, but he quickly realizes, that it’s all very different when he’s attempting this with a _man._ For one, Castiel weighs a good sixty pounds more than Lisa did … and two, it’s not quite the _cute_ and _dainty_ act when the other man involved is not accustomed to being _cute_ and _dainty._ The second Castiel’s feet leave the floor, his body stiffens in Dean’s arms—arms that are now straining to hold all that extra weight. An embarrassing grunt leaves Dean’s lips and he’s no sooner dropping Castiel onto the ground again, causing the guy to teeter before ultimately tripping on his own heels and rolling back onto the floor. “Shit— _uh_ …” Dean stammers, blanking on what else to say. He just gapes and watches Castiel attempt to pull himself up from the carpet. “Shit … sorry!”

_Idiot—idiot, idiot, idiot!_

                Dean contemplates jumping out the window—wondering if two stories up is high enough to just knock him out, but not actually kill him.

But another, infectious laugh rings from Castiel’s throat, ultimately silencing Dean’s inner turmoil. “See…” the man grins wickedly, locking his elbows and propping himself up onto his palms, “you’re not smooth at all.”

***

                Castiel had called Lew and told him that he _would_ take him up on his offer and not clock back in for the day. Dean was giddy and nervous, and altogether imploding over what all this meant. He had no idea … what was he even doing? What is his next step? He still kind of wants to go home, but now—he kind of wants to stay here too; but … is that even an option? Does Cas want him to stay? He _did_ suggest that he stay in town for the night, but that could just be because he’s still worried about how little sleep Dean has gotten over that last few days. It was _Dean’s idea_ to extend this little visit out to a _few_ nights—although, that was more to piss off Mrs. Mason than anything; but Cas sure didn’t seem to mind the change in plans, not if the way he smiled was anything to go by. So, does that mean Castiel really wants Dean to stick around?

                There were so many questions rolling back and forth in Dean’s head, he could barely function; which is probably why he’s just sitting here on the bed now, watching Castiel look through one of the photo albums that Dean had brought with him on the road.

                “Is this your mother?” Castiel asks, holding up the book and tapping on a picture in the upper right hand corner.

                Dean smiles and nods as he looks at the photo. Even from across the room, he knows which one it is. It’s one of his favorites—his mom looks so young and strong and healthy, holding a brand new Sammy in her arms while a little Dean peers over her shoulder. His father had snapped the picture—Dean remembers _that_ much, and he remembers that they were at the park that day. He remembers his mom complaining that she thought she blinked in the first photo and told John to take it again, so he did. He took a bunch, snapping picture after picture—teasing Mary that her eyes kept closing every time. She was soon giggling so hard that she couldn’t keep her eyes open at all. It was a perfect day, even if he can’t remember too much after that, Dean _knew_ it was perfect.

                “She’s beautiful” Cas says, turning the book back so he can continue looking at the images.

                “She was.”

                Those blue eyes switch quickly from _fond_ to _concerned_ as they blink back to Dean. “Is she …”

                “Yeah. Cancer.”

                Castiel nods in understanding but he doesn’t say anything else, and Dean is surprised … _appreciative_ , but surprised. He hates it when people say “I’m sorry” whenever they find out about his mom. It makes her sound like something to be pitied, but he knows how much she would have despised that.

                “Who is this?” Castiel asks after another moment, lifting the album again and pointing to another photo.

                “That’s my dad.”

                “He looks like you ... especially leaning up against the car like that.” Castiel turns the album around again and looks at it longer, and Dean takes the opportunity to look at Castiel.

                He isn’t sure why the guy wanted to peruse through his albums, but as soon as he saw them, Cas was asking about each one—so much so that Dean finally just handed him the stack and told him to go crazy. Castiel lit up, eagerly sitting down and arranging the books in chronological order. Mary was always very organized— and she kept every picture individually labeled with a date and brief description about where it was taken and why. Then, each one was filed away into an album titled with the appropriate year. Dean always thought it was silly when his mom would spend hours getting all their photos in order—until Mary passed away; then he was unendingly grateful for the detailed accounts. He would have never remembered even half of that stuff if not for those well-kept albums.

                “I am assuming that this baby is your brother?” Castiel asks, still looking down at the book.

                Dean doesn’t even have to see it to know. “Yeah, that’s Sammy. What year is that?”

                “1987.”

                Dean whistles—amazed that so many years have already passed. It really doesn’t feel like that long ago. Sometimes, he still expects to be able to hold Sam in his arms and rock him to sleep, although—if he tried that now, he would probably get smothered to death by all that hair.

                “Do you have any other siblings?” Castiel asks, making Dean quickly snap out of his reminiscence.

                “Oh no—thank god! I don’t think I could handle any more. Sam was enough for me.”

                Castiel laughs as he flips to another page. “You make him sound like he's your son more than your brother.”

                “Might as well have been.  Our dad worked a lot and our mom,  _was_ at home, but always busying herself with something. I mean, they were both _there_ so it’s not like I had to, but I always sort of took care of him, ya know? He was my responsibility. I had to show him how to grow up right.”

                “And, did he?”

                Dean sits up straighter, pride lifting him high. “Yeah— _sure did._ He’s a lawyer now. He’s got a kickass wife and a baby on the way. I—I’m so damn proud of that kid.” He didn’t realize it, but at some point, Castiel had stopped looking at the photos and is now just staring at him. “What?” Dean asks, suddenly feeling very exposed.

                “I am just intrigued by you” Castiel responds, looking him over like he’s some detailed piece of art.

                It makes Dean even more uneasy. “W—why?”

                With a swift tilt of his head, Castiel sighs and pushes the book away, soon slipping out of his seat and moving slow and careful across the room until he’s standing right in front of Dean. “Because …” Dean attempts to look up at the man, straining his neck to take in every inch of Cas’s body as it looms above his face, “you are handsome and charming, yet you are uncoordinated and clumsy.”

                Dean frowns at that—it wasn’t what he was expecting the guy to say, even though he liked the whole _handsome-part._ “ _Gee_ , thanks, Cas.”

                Castiel chuckles and then reaches out to touch Dean’s chin, letting his thumb swipe across his lips—silencing him instantly. “Let me finish” he whispers, and Dean swallows hard—his mind racing about where this could be going. “You are clumsy, yet you make up for it by being funny and sweet. You are thoughtful, yet—stubborn when it comes to certain things. You are obviously adventurous, yet—you came back here … to _me_. I don’t know why someone like you would want to spend his time with me, but I am eager to find out.”

                The man’s thumb is still pressed against his mouth, and in a rush of courage, Dean kisses it—standing a moment later to kiss Castiel’s lips instead.  He thinks he was right before—when he thought that touching this man _just once_ would be all the fantasy he could ever need; but now that it’s actually happening, Dean is finding that it seems to be more than that. It is fantasy—raw and untethered, but it’s also so real and simple, it makes him feel more stable on his feet. It makes him feel stronger and more capable. It makes him feel more confident, which is hilarious because Dean is not confident at all about what he’s doing right now, but somehow— _that’s okay_. 

_Castiel makes it okay._

                Dean pulls back a beat so he can suck in some air, gasping on it like it’s all somehow very thin. He stares into Castiel’s eyes and looks around them, getting familiar with their shape and divots the best he can with this precious chance that he’s been given.

                 He _knows_ , these chances never seem to last very long.

                “What?” Castiel asks after Dean perhaps spends a little too much time simply  _staring_ at him.

Dean grins, shrugging anxiously as he slips his hand up to the back of Castiel’s neck—letting his fingers run through his hair and soak in the feeling of him being within his grasp. “Nothin’ … I just …” he knows he’s turning horribly red, since all the blood in his body seems to be rushing to his skull, making his brain pound, but he can’t bring himself to care. “I just don’t know what to do next”

                Castiel grins and snakes his hands onto Dean’s hips, rocking them forward until their bodies are flush together. “I suppose then, it’s a good thing that _I do_.”

 

               


	11. Halos

                He moved carefully. Dean should have known he would—Castiel doesn’t seem to rush through anything. He follows every rule and direction, every street sign and code of ethic; and Dean thinks that at some point, the man must have found a manual detailing exactly what makes him tic; because with every slow, deliberate sweep of his fingers, with every exact, pinpointed placement of his lips, with every leisurely motion of his own body, Castiel easily has Dean coming apart. Portions of him that he was so sure were rusted together, are now loose in their joints. Where limb to lung was once covered in grime from ill-use, Castiel has him shining again. The man has pulled away every piece, laid it out, got Dean's once tangled mass—in order, and is now hinging him back together, like it’s simply nothing at all.

                “Is this alright?” Castiel had asked as he leaned him back onto the bed; and Dean was thankful that he asked him _that_ question instead of the obvious one. If he had asked Dean if _he_ was alright, he’s not sure he would’ve been able to answer. This was all still too new. What he did with Jonas was no preparation; although he was a _man_ , Jonas was truly no different than any other one of Dean’s drunken flings. He himself was far more desperate and pathetic than usual that night, but everything else was close to the same. It was rushed and fumbling and hectic. Each person was just there to get to that end point and then go. The smell of the booze overpowered the smell of sex and altogether, it left him feeling sick. Those experiences tended to be more like a dirty dream then anything real; and either way, he always had to do the shameful clean up in the morning. So _this_ , this was new. He’s never been sober and this unsure, and he’s never been sober and this willing to hand over the reins. He’s usually the one steering, but Castiel’s hands seem far more capable than his own.

                Is _he_ alright? If the man had asked him that, then his answer would probably have had to been _no._

                Is _this_ alright … _yes._

                He couldn’t even be positive as to why, but _yes._

                Castiel started with Dean’s hands—turning them over in his own and kissing the tips of his fingers. Dean would have never thought he’d enjoy something so innocent, but he did. And he enjoyed how Castiel moved up his arm, dragging his eyes along his skin, seeming to catalog every freckle as he blinked. Dean enjoyed the man’s breath on his neck and the way his stubble brushed up against his ear. He enjoyed feeling the weight of Castiel’s body as it pinned him down to the sheets; and even though he’s more excitedly terrified than he’s ever been in his life, he realizes that he still has a long way to go, because now Castiel is _straddling_ him, sitting upright and slipping out of that fancy shirt. Dean is breathless—staring at the half naked being above him. It was so unexpected the first time he saw Castiel like this. He felt dirty and wrong for staring; but now there’s an invitation. Castiel’s eyes and hands and tongue all beg for Dean to look—and he finds, everything is even prettier up close. All that tan skin is smooth, but there are still a few small scars scattered here and there. Some look ancient—others, more recent, and Dean wonders about the stories behind each one. Then his eyes drop further, to a thin line of hair that etches down from Castiel’s belly button, trickling more and more until it hides away beneath the button of his pants. It draws Dean’s gaze to _something_ _else_ lingering below the fabric; but before he can even try to comprehend it, Castiel takes Dean's hands into his own once more and places them flat onto his bare stomach—giving Dean silent permission to touch _as well as_ look.

                “Why did you come back?” the man whispers, stone-still above him—a statue under his touch.

                Dean swallows, unsure of the reason himself ... he came back for Cas, _yes,_ but there’s that elusive _why_ running around that he never seems to be able to catch.

                Castiel closes his eyes, lets his chest fill with the thickening air of the room—and then he slips it out slow as Dean moves his hands upwards, feeling each rib and muscle ripple against his palms. “What do you want, Dean?” he asks again—a different question, but still with the same intentions.

                Dean tries hard to focus, _to think_ … to come up with a worthwhile answer, because he doesn’t want to lie. Not when he finally has something real to hold onto. “I—I …”

_Not off to a good start._

                Dean curls his fingers towards Castiel’s back, digging the tips into the tanned skin, and it makes the man open his eyes once more. Those halos drift down and surround Dean, lighting him up from the outside, in; but he wants them closer—every time he sees that blue, he just wants it _closer._ Dean pulls against Castiel’s body—using that solid weight as leverage, hoisting himself up, and Cas—down, meeting in the middle with tongue and lips. Dean juts his hands higher, up and over the man’s spine, eventually tangling them in the locks of all that dark, messy hair; and he guides Castiel towards him again and again. Closer, harder—but to his surprise, it isn’t panicked at all. It isn’t desperate. As Dean lets Castiel’s taste fill his mouth and the smell of him fill his lungs, he realizes, he hasn’t felt this calm in a long,  long while.

                Dean smiles against the man’s lips and nuzzles their foreheads together; finally thinking of an answer that he hopes will make sense. “I want … I want to find out what this is.” Dean opens his eyes just in time to see those halos dancing happily in a sea of white.

                With one last kiss, Dean is pushed against the mattress once again—the man’s touch, more playful than before. Then, Castiel is arching his back, bending in to drag his lips down Dean’s neck. Eager fingers push Dean’s shirt up and he feels his skin prickle with the tickling touches that follow. His mind then begins to blur—too much _good_ is short-circuiting the synapses that aren’t well acquainted with the idea.

                “I must admit” Castiel whispers into the hollow of Dean’s hip. “I have been wanting to do this for a while.”

                Dean shuts his eyes, feeling himself twitch in his jeans as he wheezes. “Yeah? S’only been a few days, man—” Suddenly, Castiel is dragging his tongue across the skin peeking out of Dean’s hemline, and it makes him gasp.

                “Well, when I see an extremely attractive man beneath the hood of an extremely attractive car—I can’t help the perverse places my mind goes.”

                Dean is grinning now, “I know the feeling.”

                “Do you?”

                With a collecting breath, Dean blinks open once more and looks down—instantly wishing he hadn’t because the sight of those large, doe eyes getting ready to mouth the bulge in his pants has him dangerously close already. He grips the sheets tight and nods. “Y-yeah … you looked so  _good_ under my baby.”

                Castiel slides his palm over Dean’s covered cock—as soft as a wisp of a feather, but it has Dean arching on the bed.

                He hears the man give a low and gritty chuckle.

                “Just imagine then …” a hot mouth is soon envelops him and Dean feels the pressure of lips pressing against his tip, “how good I’ll look under _you_.”

                Dean is moaning, but quiets quickly when he hears the sound of a zipper coming undone—and it’s not his own. He hazards a peek when he feels a chill replace where Castiel once was; and what he sees is enough to make him swallow his already, very dry tongue. Standing at the edge of the bed—now slipping out of briefs too, is just about the prettiest cock he has ever encountered; and he has looked at _quite a few,_ except those were always on a screen. But Castiel’s is a sight to behold, and behold, _Dean will_ —and Dean _does_ , and maybe, drools over a little bit. It’s flawless. There aren’t a bunch of veins, and it doesn’t curve some odd direction; the head isn’t hidden away under flesh, and the skin looks smooth and quite simply— _delicious_.

                He could eat it.

                Dean isn’t sure why the idea of having another man’s dick in his mouth has always been so appealing to him, but it _has_ been; which is probably why he begged Jonas for it; but he can’t even remember what Jonas’s dick looked like. He just remembers the taste of it in his mouth and the pressure at the back of his throat. It wasn’t bad on its own, but the whole experience tainted everything. Nothing about _this_ experience however, is tainted and Dean wants nothing more than to feel Castiel push his perfect dick past his lips.

                Yet, the guy seems to have his own plans—and once he sets them into motion, Dean thinks that the Castiel has the better idea. With one, long smooth swipe, Cas runs his hand along his own length, letting his head roll back with the touch.

                Dean watches, stupefied and in awe.

                Only to be more so when Castiel bends in again, undoing Dean’s jeans and pulling him free. Soon, they’re both bare and seemingly, _unashamed_. Not that Dean has ever had concerns about being exposed in front of others—he is fairly proud of his body … _could lose a few pounds_ , but overall—he’s content. However, he thought that being sober and naked in front of another guy might have him in a bit of a panic, but that’s not the case—with his cock standing tall and thick for all eyes to see, Dean is _still_ calm. That is, until Castiel’s mouth is around him. Then, Dean is yelling, cursing louder than he knows he should—because Mrs. Mason will probably come waddling in here with a shotgun if she hears him, but he just can’t seem to care right now. This beautiful man is sucking every worry and bit of hurt straight out of his dick, and Dean is absolutely _gone_. Wide eyed, he glares down in disbelief that a mouth capable of such wise and comprehensive words, is also capable of _this._

_Fuck … it’s good._

_This is too good._

                Castiel pops off for a moment to suck in a breath, lifting his hand a second later to wipe off his lips—pink, plump, curling lips, all too aware of what they’re doing. Those lips then sneak back into a grin when their eyes meet, and he makes sure that Dean is watching when he drops his hands again to start stroking himself.

                Dean chokes as Castiel pumps his own cock—hard and fast, but still in perfect control; and that alone would have been enough to make him come but Castiel lowers once more, swallowing Dean completely in one pass—letting the head of Dean’s cock hammer against the back of his throat again and again; all the while, groaning against Dean’s pelvis as he pleasures himself too.

                The vibrations—the slight bounce that he can feel from Castiel wringing himself into ecstasy, the unbelievable pressure from the man’s tongue, all has Dean gritting his teeth and spilling out into Castiel’s mouth—so quick, he didn’t even have enough time to warn him.

                “ _F—fuck!_ I’m s-sorry!” Dean stutters, his body still jerking from his release.

                Castiel’s lips are still around him, and Dean flinches when he feels the man swallow—once, twice; a little more pressure soon has him gasping around more curses just before Castiel finally slips off. “It’s alright” he gulps, hoarse and raw.

                Dean looks back down, watching as the other man wipes his mouth and then lifts himself to stand. One of his hands is still on his dick, but now it’s covered in white.

_Thank god._

                For a second, Dean was worried that Cas didn’t get his too.

                “How do you feel?”

                It’s such a _Cas_ - _thing_ to ask, not _“Was that good?”_ or _“Did I rock your world”_ but _“How do you feel?”_ —caring and thoughtful, and it makes Dean blush. “I—I’m good, you?”

                Castiel smiles softly. “I am well, albeit, slightly sticky.”

                Dean is laughing again, and it makes his stomach hurt since he was just clenching it so hard.

                “I’m going to get cleaned up. Would you like me to bring you a cloth?”

 _Yes_ , he would but the idea of Castiel cleaning him, or watching as Dean cleaned himself seems just _a touch_ too intimate now, and with everything that just happened, Dean thinks he could benefit from being _slightly_ more manly. “ _Nah_ , man. I’ll just jump in the shower once you’re done.”

 

                And that’s exactly what he does. Once Castiel had washed his hands and pulled his pants back on, Dean made a rather embarrassing hobble to the bathroom. It’s never too pleasant to see a flaccid dick flopping around, and Dean’s was a pile of putty—just like his legs. So he stumbled more than once across the several paces from the bed to the shower, but thankfully, Cas was too much of a gentleman to laugh at him directly … at least, not for _that._

                Once in the shower however, the embarrassment washes away; but so does some of his contentment; because a sudden chilling realization just popped into Dean’s head.

                He has no idea if he’s _clean_.

                He never asked Jonas—and the bartender did say that the guy was “popular” so, what if he gave Dean something? What if Dean just gave that something to Cas?

_Isn’t it sort of guy-on-guy 101 to talk about that stuff first?_

                Should he have told Cas right away that just the night before, he was with someone else?

_Fuck._

                This is yet _another_ part of the routine that he’s _not_ familiar with. With women, he always had a condom on, and unless he knew them really well—he never let a girl blow him. Dean has always been paranoid about that kind of stuff—he likes being clean, and venereal diseases don’t necessarily go along with that plan. Yet, he didn’t even think to ask Jonas … it never crossed his mind. He didn’t ask Cas either, although he can’t imagine someone as put together as Cas, would be walking around with herpes or something. Then again, _he could be_. What the fuck does Dean know? The guy obviously has done this before— _unlike himself_. Of the two of them, he obviously has the most experience in this area, but—he didn’t bring it up either. Castiel wasn’t asking if Dean was tainted.

_Should he have asked?_

_Would he have asked?_

_What the fuck am I doing?_

                Dean plops his head against the tiled wall, trying to will his racing heart to slow down. The steam is helping some, but he has just worked himself into a frenzy, and whenever he does that, it always takes him some time before he can settle.

                “Dean?” A light knock on the door nearly makes Dean slip.

                “ _Uh_ , yeah?”

                “You’ve been in there for a while, are you alright?”

 _Shit …_ he didn’t realize. “ _Um_ … yeah, yep.”

               “You hesitated.”

“What?”

               “You hesitated with your answer.”

               “ _Uh_ … no—no I didn’t.”

               “You just did it again.”

 _Damnit_ , he really sucks at playing it cool. _Lock it up, Winchester._ “I’m fine, man—really.”

                “I’m coming in.”

                Dean yanks back the curtain, attempting to see if he locked the door—but the sight of it popping open answers his question.

                Castiel is soon inside, shutting the door behind him again and looking Dean over as he stands there, dripping and dumb in the shower. “You are panicking, aren’t you?” Castiel asks, not seeming fazed at all by Dean, nude and gawking at him.

                “What—no!” Dean yelps, proving the man right despite himself.

                Castiel just huffs and takes a seat on the toilet—staring up at Dean inquisitively. “Was that your first time with a man?”

                If he could function at all, he would laugh because if this was his first time, a lot of his worries would be gone right now; but Dean just shakes his head.

                Castiel sits up straighter, his face softening, as if surprised by that. “Okay. Was this your first time receiving oral stimulation from a man?”

                “Oh _jeez_ , Cas!” Dean sputters, grabbing the shower curtain and yanking it closed again, feeling too embarrassed now to be watched.

                But tan fingers grab it back just as quickly, making Dean shiver with the suddenly swirling air. “Why are you panicking, Dean?”

                Dean gapes at the furious looking man in front of him—the steam, making his eyes glow and giving his entire being a menacing presence. “I—I’m—”

                “If you say _you’re not,_ I will be very upset.”

                “You already look upset.”

                Castiel stiffens. “I will be _more_ upset. I asked you if this was all okay before I did anything, and you said it was.”

                “It was! I mean, _it is_ … it still is!”

                “Then why are you panicking?”

                Dean groans and spins back towards the spray of water, deciding he needs to busy himself with something if he’s going to get through this—he does _eventually_ want to get back into some pants. “I just … I …” he grabs the small bottle of shampoo off the shower ledge and squirts some into his palm, quickly lathering it into his hair and closing his eyes while trying to sort out the right way to say all this. He knows he needs to bring it up. He’s not so much of an asshole that he would let Cas walk out the door—possibly infected and unaware of it.

                “What is it?” Castiel’s voice is still rough, but quieter now … seemingly understanding that this is hard for Dean.

                “I …” Dean is thankful his eyes are closed and that he can hide his face in the water as he rinses away the suds… hopefully he can drown himself if Castiel hates him for this. “I don’t know if I’m clean, man.”

                “Then use the soap.”

                Dean opens and blinks through the droplets at him. “What? No! Jesus fucking Christ, Cas! I don’t know if I’m clean … from like, STD’s and shit!”

                Castiel’s scowl drops into something of worry and understanding. “Oh …”

                Dean really wants to drown himself now. “Cas … man, I’m sorry. I—I didn’t even think about it until now. If this was two days ago, I would have known for sure, but—”

                “You have been with someone in the past two days?”

                It didn’t sound accusatory, just shocked and Dean isn’t sure if he’s thankful for that or not. With a sigh, he shuts off the water and reaches for the towel hanging on the bar beside Castiel. Once it's in his hands, he quickly rubs down his hair and his body, soon tying the thing around himself so he can step out of the tub. When he does, he takes Cas by the arm and leads him back to the bed—knowing that this will be better if they both are sitting down; but Castiel’s big, troubled eyes make everything hurt— yet they also make Dean all the more desperate to explain. “Look …” he begins, taking a moment to figure out just _where_ to begin because he wants to get this right. “When you left me at the gas station, I was all messed up in the head. I—I had been … _wanting_ _you_ before that. Like, really fucking bad, man. So when you almost kissed me and then ran off, I was just … I didn’t know what to think. So I just drove, and I drove straight to New York. But when I finally stopped for the night, the motel just happened to be next to this club. I … I haven’t ever really done stuff with a guy before, I mean—not until _then_. I wanted to. I wanted to with _you_ really bad, especially when you were giving Baby an oil change.” Dean quirks up his mouth with the memory, but Castiel’s stoic face sobers him a second later. He sighs and sinks back down, letting his next words fall to the floor rather than on to the other man’s ears. “Like I said, I was messed up … so I went and got a few drinks. Guess I got pretty smashed because the next thing I knew, I was in this club—and there was this guy, and then I was inviting him back to my room …”

                “Do you remember what happened?” Castiel cuts in, and Dean looks back at him—noting the concern on his face.

                “Mostly … some parts are hazy. But, I—I know I did … the same thing that _you_ just did to me. He wasn’t wearing a condom or anything, though.”

                “Did he penetrate you?”

                Dean jumps up, soon standing over Castiel—feeling almost threatened by the question. “No!” he spits, but quickly breathes in deep when he sees Cas lean away from him with a flinch. “No …” he says again more calmly—trying his best to still salvage all this. “I just … I just blew him and then he gave me a handy. _That was it._ I mean,  his fingers _... roamed,_ but nothing else. I’m sorry, Cas … if I had known we’d be doing this, I wouldn’t have—”

                “You don’t need to apologize for your previous encounters, Dean. You have no responsibility towards me in that regard. It does worry me though, that you would be so careless with your own health and safety.”

                Dean knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t seem to stop himself. “Well, you kinda did the same thing.”

                Castiel opens his mouth but then clamps it hard, looking around the room for a moment, apparently, only then just realizing the double standard. “I suppose I did.”

                They stay quiet a few more beats before Dean finally musters up enough courage to talk again. “So … what do we do?”

                Castiel looks him over, and for a second, Dean braces himself—not sure if he’s about to get punched. Part of him is hoping that he does. “We get tested. You’re right, I was just as careless as you. Although I have known you longer than you knew that other man, I still don’t really _know_ you at all. I should have discussed this with you before.”

                “Would have taken some of the fun out of it” Dean mutters pathetically, instantly regretting the words because he knows that the _fun_ won’t be worth it if they’re both teeming with crotch-rot.

                “I suppose it would have.”

                Dean is surprised—he wasn’t expecting the guy to agree.

                “I was just so _eager_ …” Castiel sighs and then stands as well, meeting Dean eye-to-eye. “I never expected you to come back.”

                Dean smiles and steps in closer, wanting to kiss him again—but he’s unsure if it’s okay anymore. “I honestly wasn’t expecting _to_ come back, but … I couldn’t stay away.”

                Those halos shine again and it makes everything settle down. “So, we will get tested?”

                Dean nods. “Yeah … _tomorrow_. First thing.”

                Castiel steps in closer as well, and soon—they’re both just staring at one another’s mouths, hovering and waiting.

                “Hey, Cas?”

                “Yes, Dean?”

                “We okay?”

                Castiel leans in and presses their lips together—smiling when Dean wraps his arms around him. “I hope so.”

                Dean sighs, knowing that that’s the reality they’re in right now, but overall—he’s just happy that Cas still wants to be _in it_  at all ...  in it _together._ He could have so easily told Dean to go to hell and then stormed out that door. He vaguely thinks of how right Mrs. Mason would've been then—and he vaguely hopes that he still has the chance to prove her wrong. He _needs_ to prove her wrong, for Cas’s sake. Dean pauses, then attempting to blink away the worries and focus once more on the man in his arms.  _Cas._ He connects their lips once again,  holding Cas tighter, wishing that he didn’t have to keep pulling away to breathe. “Me too” he finally whispers, glowing in the light of the halos.

_Me too._


	12. Strike

                It has been a couple years since he had last been tested, so he forgot just how long it takes to get the results back. “Two weeks? _Really_?”

                The nurse standing in front of them looks altogether— unimpressed with just about anything and everything. “We have to wait for the labs. We can only go as fast as they go.”

                “That’s understandable, thank you” Castiel offers, but Dean just can’t understand any of it right now.

                “I just don’t see how in _this_ day and age, these things can’t be simply scanned or screened or _whatever!_ I mean … like, don’t you just have to see if it changes the color of those paper thingies or something?” Dean stammers, instantly feeling like he’s the biggest idiot to ever exist when both Castiel _and_ the nurse look at him in disbelief.

                “I think you’re thinking of litmus paper, Dean—and that is to test the acidity of a solute. It doesn’t really apply here.”

                The nurse smirks as she turns to place her clipboard back in the pocket beside the door. “Yeah—so, like I said, we’ll call you both in two weeks.” With that, she slips out into the hall once more and cackles something about “litmus paper” before her voice fades from their ears, completely.

                Dean kind of wants to yell “Fuck you” at her, but he knows that she didn’t really do anything to him. _No one_ did anything to him, he did all of this to himself—and now he’s all anxious about it and trying to blame every face that his sees; and the next face he sees is Castiel’s, but he just can’t bring himself to blame _him_. Cas didn’t ask to be put into this position, yet he’s acting far more mature than Dean is right now.

                _Jesus fuck, I’m an idiot._

“Sorry” Dean finally mutters, turning around to grab his jacket off the exam table. It had been cooler this morning—odd for this time of year, so he had dressed slightly warmer before they had left the inn; but as soon as they walked into this clinic, he began sweating bullets and instantly regretted his choice in clothes.

                “It’s alright. You—” Cas pauses and peeks back at the door, taking a moment to collect his thoughts, “you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

                Dean is surprised, because he’s not quite sure where this is coming from. “What're you talking about?”

                Cas continues to avoid Dean’s eyes as he shuffles in place. “Two weeks is a long time, and I know that you have many things that you are wanting to do, so please don’t feel obligated to stay.”

                _Shit_.  Once again, Dean hadn’t been thinking. Of course his little tantrum would be perceived as impatience … because he _is_ impatient, but it’s not because he’s eager to go. He’s eager to know that he hasn’t fucked up not only _his_ life, but Castiel’s too. He wants to know if this whole trip to find himself, has only succeeded in finding himself a fucking STD. But thanks to his unnatural ability to stick not only his _foot_ into his mouth, but his _entire damn leg_ —Cas thinks that Dean can’t wait to leave him in the dust.

                _Fucking brilliant, Dean. Top notch, you’re the man._

                “Cas—no, okay. Just, _no.”_ He moves in closer to him while simultaneously reaching out and shutting the door to their small room, blocking the outside world from catching a peek.  He then brings his hand back to lift Castiel’s chin up and presses a soft kiss to his bottom lip, and even something as small as this has Dean's body sparking at the tips. “I’m not in any hurry to hightail it outta here. I—I just want to know that I didn’t fuck all this up already. Two weeks is a long time to wait for _that_. But … as of right now, if you want me to stick around, I kinda _want_ to stick around.”

                He’s answered only by another kiss, and happy blue eyes crinkling up to meet his own. “I like the sound of that” Castiel rumbles, wrapping his arms around Dean’s middle.

                And this all should be terrifying to him. Dean should be having one of the biggest panic attacks in the history of ever because this all is so fucking weird. He went from taking a sporadic, care free road trip, to hanging out in a town in the middle of nowhere because a _guy_ that he very well might have given an STD to, says that he wants him to stay. What even _is_ his life anymore? But just then, Castiel kisses his cheek—and it’s just so innocent and real and honest, that Dean can’t help but feel like his life is for once, _pretty damn good_. “So—what do we do now?” he asks—voice, barely above a whisper, but the other man is so close, it’s plenty loud enough.

                “Well, we should probably stop kissing in the middle of this clinic.”

                Dean chuckles and looks around them—a poster with an interior view of a vagina, meeting his gaze. “What? Not sexy enough for you in here?”

                Castiel’s eyes flash with something dark, and then his hands move so quick— that Dean is yelping when he feels his ass getting groped. “Don’t get me wrong, Dean … I have _plenty_ of ideas that involve this examination table and some tongue depressors, but now is not the time to be playing doctor.”

                Dean swallows, feeling his cock start to solidify in his jeans. _Now seems like a great time, actually._ “I mean, we _could_ —”

                The door swings open, making them both jump apart and turn as red as the lollipop sticking out of the doctor’s labcoat pocket. “Oh” she says, looking between Dean and Cas with surprise. “I thought you boys had left already.”

                Cas shakes his head quickly and then straightens himself out, probably attempting to look composed, but Dean can see the vein in his neck thrumming with his quickened pulse. “No, not yet. We’re sorry Dr. Sahota. Dean and I were just leaving.”

                The doctor smiles at him before turning to focus on Dean with an arched brow. “Alright, well—we will let you know about your results just as soon as possible.”

                Dean nods at her, still feeling his cheeks burn and hoping to god that his dick isn’t pointing in her direction, but he doesn’t want to look down to check. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

                The woman smiles, and her dark skin looks smooth and soft in contrast to her white teeth and coat. “Alright then … you boys have a good day.”

                “We will, and you as well” Cas answers before taking a large side step to move around her and out the door.

                Dean follows and feels like he can finally breathe again once he’s out in the hall.

                “Oh, and Castiel ...” the doctor calls after them, making Cas stop dead in his tracks, which makes Dean clamor directly into his back.

                Cas bustles around and gives Dean a disapproving glare before he meets up with the doctor’s eyes again. “Yes?”

                “Tell your father I said hello, and that I hope that he is doing well.”

                The flustered, but fun feeling that had been flowing freely between them, shrivels up and dies with the change Dean sees in Castiel’s face. The brightness is gone and the curl to his lip, flat-lines.

                “Of course” he says shortly and then is quickly whipping around yet again and bolting for the door.

                Dean is stunned—it’s not necessarily _rude_ , but it’s not nearly as proper as Cas normally is. The guy didn’t even say _goodbye_. “Woah, hey—Cas, wait up!” he yelps, jogging to follow the man out. Just before he reaches the door however, he turns back and waves at Dr. Sahota who is still watching them from the opening to the room. She waves back but he can tell—she’s just as confused as he is.

                When he finally catches Castiel, the guy is standing at the passenger side of the Impala—looking down at the handle, waiting to get in. Dean comes to a stop at the driver’s side but he doesn’t open it up, instead taking this moment to look over the roof of the car at that dark, drooping head across from him. “What’s wrong?”

                Castiel peers up, but just for a moment, squinting against the morning sun. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

                “Remember what I said about being _fine?_ ” Dean laughs, trying to lighten the mood.

                Castiel sighs but doesn’t say a word, so Dean finally drops down to get into the car. He reaches over and unlocks the passenger side and watches as Cas gets in too.

                He waits another moment before he thinks of starting the engine, just looking at the man beside him and hoping that he will take this time to talk.

                “I’m sorry, Dean” Cas says eventually, turning his mouth up into a weak, half-smile. “I tend to forget that everyone in this town knows me and my family … my father, specifically.”

                “Is … is that a bad thing?” Dean asks, knowing that by Cas’s posture right now, it probably is—but he wants to know _why_.

                “Not— _bad_ , per say. It is more awkward than anything. I never seem to be able to do as I please without it getting noticed; and then someone usually feels it is their duty to try and report it back to my father— which is just confusing for him. I would just like to not feel so constantly _watched_.” He sighs and then smiles again—this time, making eye contact with Dean. “I know, it sounds childish.”

                Dean laughs, because that’s not what he was thinking at all. “No, man … it doesn’t. Shit, if I had everyone I knew reporting what I did back to my dad, I’d be annoyed too.” He laughs some more when he _really_ thinks about it. “Actually, I’d be _dead_ … my dad would’ve killed me if he knew all the shit that I was getting into.” And now, he’s actually surprised that John _hadn’t_ ever been told about the many shenanigans Dean had found himself in over the years—his town was pretty small too, and everyone knew his family … but then again, everyone knew that John Winchester was a tough son of a bitch and not the most _friendly_. Dean couldn’t imagine any of them wanting to be the one to tell the guy some bad news about his kid. Guess Dean had lucked out with that one.

                Cas nods and keeps smiling, but his body sinks slightly into the seat—like he’s being weighed down.

                Dean tries to focus on him again—considering what all this means for the guy. And like a ton of bricks falling onto his head, he realizes _where_ they just came from and _what_ they were there for, and _why_ that all might be some _not-so-pleasant_ news for any dad born and bred in the Midwest. “Oh shit …” Dean mumbles, turning his wide eyes to the steering wheel. “You … you don’t think that doctor is going to tell your dad that you were there … that _we_ were there, do you? Oh shit, Cas … is your dad gonna flip? Fuck … I am _so_ fucking up your life!” He groans harshly and plops his head down onto his hands, feeling like the biggest dickwad to ever be a dick wad.

                “What are you talking about?”

                Dean pulls upright again and matches Cas’s confused stare with his own. “That—the doctor … she’s gonna … she’s gonna _out_ you” he whispers rigidly, as if the people inside can still hear them.

                Cas’s face turns more stern, and then altogether crumbles with a laugh. “Dean—my father knows I’m gay.”

                “ _Oh_ ” Dean sighs, both relieved and fairly surprised.

                 Cas leans forward quickly and kisses him, turning his surprise into something more pleasant.

                “So …” Dean starts again, now wondering why Cas seemed so concerned before. “Why're ya worried about people reporting shit back to your dad?”

                The other man raises his eyebrows at him. “We are still getting tested for venereal diseases, Dean. That’s not exactly news I want to be broadcasted.”

                Dean snorts. “Oh, _right_.”

                “I _do_ enjoy my privacy. I just can never seem to get any in this town.”

                Dean quickly grins as he scoots closer to Cas’s side. “Well, I dunno about _privacy_ , but I certainly can give you somethin’ else.”

                A hungry gaze matches his own. “Is that so?”

                Dean suddenly feels out of his league, but he’s committed now. “Yeah … you want to see it?”

                “I want to see _a lot_ of things when it comes to you” Cas growls, pushing the sentiment straight into Dean’s mouth shortly thereafter.

                Dean laps it up greedily, still tasting hints of their morning coffee on Cas’s tongue. They had stopped in to Anna’s just before heading to the clinic. The man’s sister seemed happy to see Dean, and strangely—not surprised at all that he was back again.

                Cas stops them after a moment more. “We probably should not be fooling around in front of the clinic that we were just caught fooling around _in._ ”

                Dean reluctantly pulls away with a nod. “Yeah, yeah … _fine_.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling like he’s fourteen again and all too eager to get a girl’s bra off … except, that bra is now a set of black boxer briefs with white trim—that Dean had watched get put on this morning, so he already knows just how perfectly they hug Cas’s ass, and how they leave _nothing_ to the imagination when the guy turns around … and _fuck._ Dean is rock hard again.

                “Where would you like to go?” Cas asks, grinning down at Dean’s waist—showing that he knows _exactly_ what is happening down there.

                “Dunno, it’s _your_ town” Dean answers, kind of breathless, so he closes his eyes to compose himself. Everything is silent for a long moment, and it eventually makes him open up again and stare at the other man, whose own eyes are off in the distance somewhere, traveling the lands of thought. “Any ideas?” Dean finally asks, making Cas finally venture back to their spot in time.

                “Let’s go to the bowling alley.”

                Dean busts up, because that is the _last_ place he would have ever thought Cas would suggest. “You want to go to a bowling alley?”

                Cas nods resolutely. “Yes I do.”

                “Why?” Dean snorts—full of judgment and tease.

                “I want to bowl” the other man says, simply.

                “Really?”

                “Yes.”

                “ _Why_?” Dean asks again, grinning and shaking his head.

                “I haven’t bowled in years and I always enjoyed it when I used to go with my brother.”

                The idea suddenly doesn’t seem as crazy anymore, and Dean sighs with a smile. He hasn’t been bowling in forever either. He was never a huge fan of the sport— _if you can even call it that_. He liked stuff that was more active—soccer, football, basketball. Even baseball got kind of boring after a while, but less so than _bowling_. Plus, Dean fucking sucks at bowling and Sam never ceased in making fun of him for it when they were kids. Like with most things, Sam was a natural at the game—and especially loved beating his older brother over and over again. “Is that _really_ what you want to do?” Dean finally says, knowing he sounds pathetic and pleading, but he likes this guy, and looking like a tool at the bowling alley doesn’t sound too great right now.

                “Yes” Cas says once more—just as confidently as ever. 

                “Alright … guess we’re bowling.”

                The impala’s engine roars to life and soon, they are pulling out of the clinic’s parking lot and heading to the north end of town. Dean can’t say that he’s thrilled with this idea, but the closer they get to the place, the more excited Cas becomes, and soon—the plan doesn’t seem as dreadful, not if it makes this beautiful man beside him, so damn happy.

***

                Just like he thought he would—Dean sucked.  He was lucky if he could even knock down one pin. It was gutter ball after gutter ball, and no matter how many pointers Cas gave him, or how many new ways he twisted the thing—it still shot hard and fast into that ditch at either side of the lane.

                “Fuck!” Dean shouts as he watches that green, tie-dyed sphere go plummeting right past the pins— _again_.

                “Dean … _language_ ” Cas chides, nodding apologetically to the group of small children and their mothers, having a birthday party in the lane beside them. All the women just sneer back, muttering to themselves about " _some_ _people"_ and " _poor behavior"_.

                Dean shrugs up his shoulders and grits his teeth—imagining that this is yet _another_ _thing_ that will get reported back to Cas’s dad. He suddenly starts to feel like this entire town is one big elementary school and the dreaded Mr. Novak is that hard ass principal that has no problem with making some kid’s life, a living hell. He walks back to Castiel’s side and claps him on the shoulder. “Sorry, dude … I just really hate how much I suck at this.”

                A warm smile instantly makes him feel better. “It’s alright … you're just making me look _that_ much better by comparison” Cas snips smugly, shooting Dean a wink.

                “Oh, _thanks_!” Dean shoots back, trying to act like that wink didn’t just get him weak in the knees.

                Castiel only laughs and moves once more to the ball return, picking up the black ball that he has been using before lifting it to his face. He then turns to face the lane and stills himself, tensing his shoulders and aligning his spine. With one step, then two—he bends down and throws back his arm, launching the ball forward a second later, sending it hurtling down the lane in a perfect, gliding, trajectory. The pins obliterate and the screen overhead flashes some cartoon letters saying “STRIKE! STRIKE! STRIKE!” over and over again, but all that can’t tear Dean’s focus away from the perfect shape of the man’s ass as he stays bent over, looking down the lane at all the knocked down pins.

                _Fuck, he looks good._

                And to make everything even more hard to ignore, when Castiel does finally erect himself, he clenches his fist and pulls it back abruptly—doing the most adorable, and composed self-celebration that Dean has ever seen.

                _Fuck, and he’s cute!_

                “Your turn, Dean” Castiel says coolly, strutting back—seeming like he’s trying not to look cocky, but is failing miserably.

                Dean wants to kiss him so badly, but he still doesn’t have the gall to do so with all these people around. So he channels the feeling into the task at hand—now, hopelessly distracted as he picks up his ball and turns back to the lane. All he can think about is the other man’s perky buns, wrapped up perfectly in those dress pants, pants that he’s been wearing for two days now, since he spent the night with Dean. And his white button up shirt is wrinkled and creased in weird ways, but it doesn’t look bad because Cas un-tucked it and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. And his usually combed hair is all messy, and his jaw has more stubble than usual … and he still smells faintly of sex whenever Dean steps in close enough … and _fuck_ , he doesn’t want to be _bowling_ , he just want to be touching Cas.

                The ball jumps from his hand and rolls down the lane—not very quickly, but when Dean finally rouses himself from his perverse little daydream, he’s surprised to find that the ball is heading straight for the center pin. It knocks the first one down, which sends a chain reaction into motion, knocking down another and another, and soon—all the pins fall over except for one. It’s the closest thing to a strike Dean has ever gotten … and it makes him go absolutely nuts. “ _Woooo!_ Hell yeah! You see that! Now that’s what I’m talkin' about!” He jumps around in a circle and then points down the lane once again. “And _you_ get knocked down, and _you_ get knocked down, and so do _you_ , and _you_ , and _you!_ ” he shouts, pointing eager finger-guns at each of the toppled pins. “Who’s your daddy? _I’m_ your god damn daddy!” He then tosses mighty fists into the air before finally circling back, waiting for the mounds of praise and congratulations that are awaiting him.

                Instead, all he sees are the clasped mouths and wide eyes of everyone standing nearby.

_Shit._

                Cas blinks a few times and then peeks to his right, mouthing sorry once again to the birthday party beside them. “Dean …” he begins, quickly stepping in closer. “You _do_ realize that we are in public?”

               Dean blushes, maintaining some selfish pride in his accomplishment. “Yeah … _uh_ , sorry.”

                Castiel moves closer still, finally grinning up at him and then peeking down at Dean’s lips. “It’s alright” he whispers—blue turning hot and dangerous before Dean’s very eyes, “just save the celebrations for when we’re alone and I can _really_ congratulate you.”

                Dean coughs out a laugh, beaming wide at the man and resisting the urge to immediately pull him outside and throw him into the Impala’s backseat.  “Yeah?” he asks excitedly—mind running wild with all the creative ways Cas could give him props.

                “Oh _yes_ … but, Dean?”

                Dean abortively stops amid a fantasy of the guy getting kinky with a bowling pin. “Yeah?”  He jumps as the green ball is suddenly thrust back against his chest.

                “It’s _still_ your turn.”

                Dean nods and barely looks as he chucks the thing straight into the gutter, quickly turning back to Castiel with a grin. “Not anymore.”


	13. Fit

                “Would you like to stay at my house?”

                Dean stops eating mid-burger and gawks at Castiel. “ _Uh_ —“

                “If you don’t, that is completely understandable. I was just thinking that perhaps you’d like to save your money, and two weeks is a long time to be paying for a room and … I’m sorry for asking. That was too forward. My apologies.” Castiel melts at the other side of the picnic table before slowly reaching for a french fry and nibbling on it pathetically.

                Dean smiles. _Why is he so cute?_ “You seriously need to stop apologizing over every little thing, man—especially when you’re trying to do something nice for someone.”

                Sad oceans peer back at him but Cas doesn't say a word.

                “Look …” Dean chirps—along with the birds singing over their heads and all around the park. “I can’t say I was looking forward to paying for a room for the next fourteen days, none the less, seeing that crazy, old woman over and over again, _but_ I certainly don’t want to put you out just because I’m cheap and terrified of Mrs. Mason.”

                Castiel smiles, but it seems reluctant. “ _Everyone_ is terrified of Mrs. Mason.”

                “Oh good—I was thinking that she only turned into Satan around _me_!” And now Castiel is chuckling, and Dean mentally pats himself on the back because he was able to cheer the guy up.

                They continue eating contentedly a moment more before Castiel finally decides to speak. “You wouldn’t be putting me out, you know? I have a spare bedroom and a guest bathroom. You could use either—or _both_ … whatever you’re comfortable with. I don’t want you to feel obligated to—”

                Dean cuts in, happily saving the nervous man from himself. “Don’t feel obligated to sleep in _your_ bed and get your sheets dirty?”

                Another smile—this time, more wicked. “Along those lines, yes.”

                Dean huffs a small laugh and then sets down his burger, standing up soon after to walk around to Castiel’s side of the picnic table. They’re alone in the park right now—save for the birds, so Dean doesn’t think twice about straddling the bench close to Cas’s side and propping his chin onto the man’s shoulder. “Cas … if you want me to stay with you, then I will. If you want me to sleep in the other bedroom, _then I will_ ; but if you don’t mind where I sleep, then I’d much rather sleep on top of you.”

                Castiel swallows his last bite of fry and then gives Dean a grin. “I’d much prefer you _under_ me, but I don’t mind trying it your way.”

***

                Dean checked out of the Inn, much to Mrs. Mason’s pleasant surprise. She was so happy in fact, that she barely said a word to him as she wrote out his receipt. All he got was a snotty “Leavin' so soon?” to which he just shrugged in response. He thought it might be fun for her to think that he was gone for good—that way, when she sees him around town over the next two weeks, he can watch her head thoroughly explode. It gives him the warm and fuzzies just thinking about it.

                After he was done there, still feeling stuffed and happy from their fast-food picnic in the park, Dean packed up his things—all the while, way too excited to be seeing where Castiel lives. He wasn’t sure why it was giving him such a thrill—but as it sits, everything about the man gives him a thrill, so knowing more, seeing _more,_ makes him overflow with glee.

               He wasted no time in setting out for the address that Cas had given him right before he had left the park to go check in with Lew. It turns out that Dean’s impromptu stay was perfect timing … something that he never seems to have, so God must be smiling on him for once. The kid who works the weekends so Cas can take them off, is taking off the Summer quarter from school to try and save some money. He had been bugging Lew for weeks about picking up some extra shifts, but Cas didn’t want to give up his days. But now with Dean in town, he said he’s not as eager to work his usually full schedule; so he went to Lew and told him that he doesn’t mind switching with the kid. He’ll take the weekends and the boy can have the five weekdays—it was perfect.

                Again, this all should be terrifying Dean, but as he drives back up Main Street, looking for that fifth right turn that he needs to take, he is nothing but enthusiastic. Sure, he went from fantasizing about this dude to basically _living_ with him in less than a week. And sure, they are planning on spending practically every hour of every day together for the next two—and yeah, Dean is basically in a fucking gay relationship right now … but he’s oddly cool with that. It’s all just seeming to fit. Every little thing isn’t perfect, _no_ —but the big things like talking with this guy and seeing eye to eye most of the time, and making each other laugh … that’s all easy. Finally, for once in Dean’s life, just _being_ _with_ someone is _easy_.

                He turns right just six blocks after he left Maggie’s and then takes the very first left after that. He’s soon winding through a small neighborhood filled with modest homes and neatly kempt front yards. It’s also fairly close to the auto shop so Dean understands why the guy said he would just walk home from there. It’s quaint and quiet here, and exactly what he would expect Cas to be living in.

                “Five fifty three … five fifty five … five fifty _seven_ —this must be it.” Dean pulls up outside of five fifty seven East Mulberry to a small home with white siding and red trim—and just outside, stands Castiel, waving him down. Dean grins stupidly to himself as he pulls up to the curb, and he’s still grinning when he shuts off the engine, and as gets out of the car. And he doesn’t even bother popping the trunk to get his stuff out—because he’s just too damn excited. Before Cas can even say hello, Dean is jogging up, meeting him on the porch and pushing him back inside the door so he can kiss him breathless. Cas doesn’t seem to mind it though, by the way he kicks the door closed behind them and shoves Dean quickly down the hall. They are soon in a bedroom—what Dean can only assume is Castiel’s, but he doesn’t have time to ask because he needs to get his shirt off and work on getting the other man’s off as well.

                “Nice place” he eventually says with a laugh, pulling Cas’s button up over his head—too eager to actually undo all the buttons properly.

                “You haven’t even looked at it” the guy points out, stilling for a moment and cocking his head.

                Dean just laughs again before licking his lips—eyes raking over Cas’s newly-bare chest. “I’m seeing everything I need to see right now.”

                “I wouldn’t say _everything_ ” Cas interjects—with fingers slipping down to unfasten his own pants.

                Dean grins wider, stepping away to get the full picture, almost like he’s back in the museum again and needs to take his time absorbing all the art. And this _is_ art. The long smooth lines that etch Castiel’s body, the sculpted curve of his hip bones, the painted mounds of muscle and intricately woven tendons, all dancing as he moves to slither out of his clothes. It’s beautiful.

                “I want to see _you_ too” Cas gravels, nodding towards Dean’s still-clothed waist.

                But Dean is too distracted by the man’s thumbs as they hook into the white-trimmed waistband of those black boxer briefs. The outline of his hard cock is pulsing beneath the fabric and it’s hypnotizing him into a coma.

                Cas laughs as he follows Dean’s eyeline. “Oh, you want to see more?”

                Dean nods—desperate … starving for it.

                Castiel pulls down one side of the briefs, exposing more of his hip with just a peek of dark hair at the side. “This is all you get until I see some more of _you_.” With that, he snaps the underwear against his skin, covering himself back up.

                Dean groans, but quickly starts to undress—too impatient to be cool or teasing about the whole thing like Cas is. He rips open the button of his jeans and tears down the fly—wiggling and jiggling out of the denim, and then his boxers, until he is naked and swinging in the middle of the other man’s room.

                Castiel breathes in deep as he looks him over—long enough that his hand eventually drops from his waist, seeming as if he altogether forgot about stripping himself the rest of the way.

                Dean lets out a pathetic whine, but shuts up the moment Castiel steps towards him. He steps in again, and again until they’re practically nose to nose. Two roving hands seem to appear out of thin air, gliding over Dean’s body, just feeling and soaking him up like a thirsty sponge.

                “You’re perfect” Castiel whispers—eyes leaving warm prints across Dean’s collar bone until they disappear over his shoulders.

                Dean blushes and shakes his head, feeling completely unworthy of all this adoration.

                Castiel just smirks and shakes his head in return. “Don’t argue with me, Dean. I am not often wrong about these sorts of things.”

                “Well—aren’t we modest?” Dean chuckles but he’s still feeling uneasy about just standing here and being _appreciated._

                “I am very proud of my ability to state fact … and the fact is, you _are_ perfect.” And before Dean can protest yet again, Cas is kissing him—hands falling down until they drape over his ass and squeeze it hard. Then, a hard cock is grinding into his own, and it makes Dean buckle in the middle and moan into the other man’s mouth. Cas smiles as he continues to massage the firm curves of Dean’s skin. “What do you want, Dean? Tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

                Dean closes his eyes as he tries to think of something more specific to say besides _everything_. “I—I want …” he wrestles his mind, finally resting on the _one_ _thing_ he’s wanted for years, but he can’t bring himself to say it out loud. The sheer idea of speaking the words is making his skin catch fire, so instead—he drops to his knees, coming eye to eye with Castiel’s cock, still cloaked in black. With shaking fingers, he lifts up his hands to pull the briefs down—until the heavy, hard length of flesh is bobbing in front of his nose. Dean breathes it in and licks his lips with the sight of Cas’s tip—dripping and just waiting to be devoured. It’s every one of his fantasies come to life. Ever since he was fourteen and peeking at his teammates as they changed in the locker room, just wishing that one of them would ask him to take a closer look. Every porno that he watched, gay or otherwise—obsessing over the hard cocks getting gobbled up. He ached to have one in his mouth. And he knows—he knows that he got to experience this once already, but it was rushed and he wasn’t in control of it. He was drunk out of his mind and all he truly remembers is gagging on Jonas as the guy rammed into the back of his throat, hard and fast. It wasn’t what Dean had always pictured. He had pictured something slow and soft—where he could take his time in making someone else feel _amazing;_ and he truly wants to make Cas feel amazing right now. Kneeling here like this, looking up into those blue eyes as they peer back down into his—so excited and caring, it’s as if Cas has always been the one Dean had fantasized about, and he just never knew it ‘til now. As lame as he knows it makes him sound … Cas is kind of his dream guy.

With one more steadying breath, he leans forward—fingers wrapping around the base as he lets the man’s tip part his lips. The salty sweet taste explodes across his tongue, making Dean’s mouth water for more. His free hand soon slips up to grip the back of Castiel’s thigh and pull him closer. Inch by inch, he sucks him in, hollowing out his cheeks each time he swallows down that intoxicating tang. He listens as the guy begins to growl above him—causing his entire body to shake and his dick to vibrate in Dean’s mouth; and it’s the all the confirmation that he needs to know that he’s doing this right, so he sucks further, until the man is slipping deep into his throat. He concentrates on breathing through his nose and maneuvering his tongue around the underside of Cas’s length, finally dropping his fingers so he can choke him down the rest of the way—until his nose is scratching against the soft hair tufted across Cas’s pelvis.

                Castiel moans and soon, Dean feels the guy’s hands on his head, running through his hair—but they don’t push, and they don’t yank like Jonas’s did, they just _feel_ —still allowing Dean to make all the moves. It’s comforting and relaxing, and gives him permission just to enjoy this as he ensures that Cas enjoys it too. He pulls back, feeling his body tingle with the sensation of that thick cock sliding out of his mouth, and it tingles even more when he drops back in. Dean does this over and over, picking up speed with each pass, finding new ways to twist his tongue and rock his jaw, causing the man above to moan louder and pull a hand away to brace himself against the wall.

                Dean feels his own dick begin to throb. He’s completely overwhelmed by everything that he’s doing and without even touching himself, he knows he’s getting close; and he wants to touch himself—he wants to ride this high _with_ Cas, but he knows that the guy isn’t quite there yet. So Dean holds off as he pulls off, taking a moment to swirl his tongue around the head of that delicious cock, moving swiftly to ring it with his lips and gently press against the ridge with his teeth.

                Cas outright _yells._

                Dean almost smiles but he doesn’t want to break the momentum, so he inhales him harder, until he feels the man pulse in his throat.

                “ _Dean_ …” Cas warns, sounding wrung out and beaten, and all manners of _hot_.

                And that’s his cue—for Dean to let his own hand reach down and collect himself, sliding up his cock to match the rhythm that he’s set with Castiel’s. He peeks back; his green eyes watering as Cas uncontrollably bucks and it makes him choke—but he _loves_ it. And he loves how those blues expand, focusing on nothing until they finally drop down to meet his gaze again. Disbelief, wonder, excitement and mania all spiral around the black. That pink mouth opens and gasps, and moans and growls the dirtiest sounds that Dean thinks he has ever heard. It makes him stroke himself faster, and it makes him lick up Cas’s cock faster—and just as he feels his own stomach burn with his impending release, Castiel punches the wall.

                “Fuck!”

                Dean never in a million years thought he would hear the man curse, and the wreckage in his voice made the word sound so much more filthy than it already is—and Dean can’t stop his eyes from rolling into the back of his head as he moans on Cas’s dick. He comes hard against his own hand and he’s still twitching on it as Cas explodes into his mouth. Dean’s dick throbs harder, somehow peaking on climax again with the experience of getting filled up by the other man’s come. It takes all of Dean’s energy and focus for him to swallow it down, but he manages—finally collapsing off Castiel’s cock and melting into a pile on the floor.

                Castiel follows him, dropping to his knees and then crumbling to his side until they're lying face to face. “I … _you_ …” he stutters, gasping and staring as Dean just shivers and smiles.

                “Yeah” Dean confirms, swallowing some more around the sticky feeling still swimming in his throat.

                “You are _very_ good at that” Castiel finally manages, closing his eyes and grinning—almost reverently.

                Dean laughs and it makes his stomach hurt. “I better be … only been thinking about doin' it _all_ my life.”

                Cas laughs too and then quiets a moment, eventually rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. “I thought you said that you did that with the other man too.”

                Dean’s smile tempers and he shakes his head weakly against the carpet. “It wasn’t like _that_ … I mean, it wasn’t like how I wanted it to be. What _we_ just did … that was perfect.”

                Castiel grins before turning his head back to catch Dean’s eye. “It really was.”

***

                They lied there for almost twenty minutes before Dean couldn’t stand it anymore. He _had to_ wash his hands … he really doesn’t like feeling dirty for too long _after_ getting dirty. Castiel had teased him about that, saying he was the filthiest germaphobe he had ever met. But that was a criticism Dean could live with, and he smiled proudly about it as they dressed again and went out to gather his things from the car. Once unpacked, Cas showed him around his small home. Just off to the left of the front door sat a tiny living room. There was a leather couch and a petite arm chair nestled around a wooden coffee table. On the wall above the fireplace was a modest flat screen—new, but not gigantic like you'd find in most bachelor pads. On either side of the fireplace were two large bookshelves that took up most of the space, brimming with novels and hardcovers. There were also some framed photos in front of the books—some with Cas in them and some with Anna, and many with people Dean didn’t recognize; but the most interesting thing about the room that he had noticed, was the long keyboard, propped up on a stand and aligned with the front picture window. There's a book of music open on top of it and when Dean walks over to look at the pages, he sees that the it is comprised of classic rock tunes— an Eagles song as well as one from Crosby Still and Nash took up the sheets that he could see.

                Smiling, he peeks back over his shoulder and stares at Castiel—who is now watching him intently. “You play these?”

                Castiel nods softly before walking closer. “I'm not very good, and it’s been a long time since I truly practiced, but I do like to play on occasion.”

                Dean sighs, unaware that he could be even _more_ drawn to this man, but standing here now and imagining him sitting down at this keyboard, tapping out some of his favorite songs— _he is._ “So how do I make _this_ an occasion?” he asks quickly, pressing one of the keys and frowning when it doesn’t make a sound.

                The other man chuckles as he reaches out to flip the switch to _on,_ and Dean’s finger is suddenly making a low deep _ping_ emerge from the board; but just as quickly, Cas shuts it off again. “Let’s finish getting you settled and then maybe you can coerce me into playing for you.”

                With that,  Dean plays up a smirk. “Oh, I’ll coerce you, alright … I’ll coerce _the pants_ off you!”

                “I have no doubt, considering you have already succeeded twice in that area.”

                Dean is beaming proudly as Castiel then leads him around to the kitchen which faces the backyard. The sink is at the center with a window above it that opens out to a garden with a short fence and long field just beyond it, stretching out as far as he could see. It’s a nice view—not facing other people,  just land and soft grass, and birds splitting the clouds above it all.

                 _That'll be nice to wake up to._

                 From there, they wind through to another hall—that connects like an L with the one leading to the front entrance. At the junction is the door to Cas’s room and closer to where they are now, is the guest bedroom and the guest bath down at the far end.  It’s a small place, but Dean likes the flow and thinks it’s plenty big enough for someone as laid back and modest as Cas.

                “So, do you want your things in _this_ room?” the man asks him, grinning as if he knows it’s a ridiculous question.

                Dean just rolls his eyes. “Sure, but it will be an awkward walk every morning to get dressed.”

                Cas nudges Dean’s shoulder with his own and then walks back around to the front door to pick up Dean’s things. Dean follows him and helps him carry everything back into the master bedroom. As he sets it all down—he finally gets the chance to look the place over. The bed has a solid, dark oak frame, but it’s simple—modern, with just a square headboard bracing it against the wall. Matching nightstands cap each side and the walls are painted with a cool gray that makes him feel soothed and relaxed just by looking at them. Off to the left is the opening to the master bathroom. The long vanity stretches along with the mirror, holding two sinks within its white tile surface. On one side of it, is a decent sized walk in closet, and on the other—the toilet and a stand-in shower with a wide, waterfall head. Everything looks clean and organized and it is exactly how Dean likes his own space to be. He eases—getting even more comfortable with the idea of staying here now, because at least him and Cas appear to be like-minded in how they keep things.

                “I should probably take a shower” Cas says, just as Dean sets down his bag in the corner of the room.

                “What, two days of orgasms not sitting well with ya?”

                “The orgasms are fine; it’s the sweaty aftermath that I’m not fond of.”

                Dean laughs. “I get that.”

                Castiel grins too and then struts to his side, laying a soft kiss flat on Dean’s lips. “How about you unpack while I get clean.”

                “Only if I can get you dirty again afterwards.”

                Cas pats his cheek and winks at him—and it _still_ makes Dean’s knees go weak. “I expect you to.”

***

                Dean is sitting on the end of the bed, leaned back on his hands—still taking it all in when he hears the shower shut off. He leans forward again as he eagerly awaits Castiel—hoping that the guy will walk out of the bathroom in just a towel. For whatever reason, Dean _really_ needs that image in his brain. Another few agonizing minutes pass before he hears the door latch open; but when Cas comes out—it’s not exactly what he expects—it’s _better._

                The man’s hair is wet and sticking to his forehead, and the drops on his shoulders and back make him sparkle with the rolling steam. His eyelashes are stuck together, making his lids look darker and the blue in his eyes shines even brighter. He is everything Dean wants and more; and it only makes sense for him to get up right this second and go over there so he can kiss those water droplets off the guy’s skin, but just as he starts to make his way, his phone rings in his pocket.

                Castiel turns and looks at him with a raised brow—eyes bouncing from Dean’s waist to his face a few times, silently asking him if he’s going to answer it.

                He doesn’t want to—he really wants to just stick with that whole _licking-skin_ plan, but he doesn’t really get many calls, so he knows that it’s probably Sam, and Sam will worry if he doesn’t answer. With a groan, Dean fishes the thing out from his jeans and looks at the screen. _Yep, it’s Sam._ “It’s my brother” he mumbles, glancing back at Cas, feeling almost like he needs permission to answer it in front of him.

                Cas nods quickly and gestures to the phone. “You should answer it then.”

                Dean nods back and finally swipes the screen, bending down a little so he can press the phone to his ear. “Hey, Sammy.” He looks back at the other man—but Cas just smiles softy at him and then turns to face the mirror, giving Dean a shred of privacy for his call.

                “Hey. Just calling to check in—how’s it going?”

                “Good!” Dean squeaks, feeling suddenly, very nervous about what the hell he’s supposed to say to his baby brother about all this. “Good” he repeats, trying to make his voice lower and more calm.

                Sam chuckles through the phone. “Glad to hear it. Where are you now?”

                _Shit …_ “ _Uh_ … well …” he looks back at Cas, meeting those blue eyes in the mirror. The man smiles at him again just before reaching down to grab the shaving cream off the counter and foaming some into his hand. Dean watches as he begins to lather it across his face—and he seems just so comfortable, and as Dean stands here now, he realizes that he feels comfortable too, and he’s happy, and there’s really no reason he needs to hide that from his brother. This may all come as a bit of a shock, but Dean knows that Sam will always be happy for him— no matter what. “I … I’m actually back in Huntsville.”

                “Seriously?”

                Deans laughs because Sam sounds truly surprised. “Yeah.” He then turns away— away from the image of Cas, naked, save for a towel, and shaving in front of the mirror. Dean knows that he needs to focus right now, and watching the other man do mundane things that for whatever reason, endlessly thrill him, won’t help him do that. “Came back yesterday.”

                “Wow … this chick must _really_ have you wrapped around her finger” Sam wonders, but he sounds happy and relaxed, and Dean is grateful for it.

                “I told you a million times, Sammy … there is no girl.” A soft chuckle makes Dean turn around and he sees Castiel grinning at him through the foam on his face. He presses his finger to his lips to try and shush him up, but Dean can’t help but grin too.

                “Will you just give it up, dude? I know you, and you would only come back if there was some chick that you were currently going gaga for.”

                Dean steps away a little further, until he’s standing in front of Cas’s bedroom window and staring out through the thin curtains to the outline of his baby parked out on the curb. He likes the sight of her there … she just seems to fit. “Sammy … there’s no girl. There is … there is _a guy_ though.”

                Sam is silent for a long while and Dean has to pull the phone back several times just to make sure that the kid is still listening.

                “Sammy?”

                “This isn’t like the Jeremy Fines situation, is it?”

                Dean scrunches his face up and steps back from the window. “What?”

                “Jeremy Fines … the guy you played soccer with when you were on that team in high school.”

                Dean flaps his mouth obliviously a moment. “Yeah I know who _Jeremy Fines_ is, but why are you talkin’ about him?”

                “Because you had a crush on that kid for like—the whole two years you were playing, and I think that he was the only reason you kept playing for so long.”

                Dean drops heavy onto the bed, gaping and gawking at the wall. “I … _uh …_ ”

                “I mean, it’s not like you weren’t _good_ at soccer and all _,_ but even mom could tell that you weren’t super into it. I mean … unless you and Jeremy were starting together.”

                “ _Mom_ knew?” Dean whispers, barely able to breathe anymore.

                “ _Of course_ she knew. I think dad knew too, but it’s not one of those things he would go around talking about.”

                “ _You_ knew?” Dean whimpers some more, still in disbelief, and he wants to just fall back against the mattress and close his eyes, because this is all too much to comprehend.

                “Please, Dean. I probably knew before _you_ did. I just didn’t think you’d ever have the balls to act on it. Good for you.”

                “Good for … _what_?” Dean _does_ fall back now, gazing up at the ceiling fan and questioning his entire existence.

                “Yeah, good for you, Dean. I’m glad that you finally feel comfortable with that part of yourself. I just don’t want you to get hurt, and I know that when Jeremy went off on you about getting too … _close_ , you were hurt. I mean, that’s why you quit playing, isn’t it?”

                “Hey … are you talking to Dean?”

                Dean shoots back up when he hears Jessica’s voice in the background.

                “Yeah. He’s back in Huntsville. He is getting it on with some guy there.”

                “Dean finally has a boyfriend? _No freaking way!_ ”

                Jessica’s shriek makes Dean’s skin shock white. “You told _Jess?_ ” he gasps, now looking around the room in a helpless craze.

                Sam just laughs hard into the phone. “Didn’t have to. She asked me if you were gay right after she first met you. I told her that you were probably bi or somethin' but as far as I knew, you hadn’t done anything with a dude yet.”

                “Oh my god!” Dean groans, plopping back once again and smacking his hand over his face.

                “Let me talk to him!”

                Dean’s eyes widen when he hears Sam grumble at his wife, quickly followed by some rustling, and finally, Jess’s happy trills when she comes onto the line.

                “So—what’s the guy’s name? Is he cute? How did you meet? Oh my god, send me a picture right now, you asshole!”

                “Give me that!” Sam snips, seemingly ripping the phone back from his insane wife’s grasp.

                “Sorry, dude. She gets a little excited over this type of shit. Wish I could blame the pregnancy but she’s just really _that_ nuts.” Sam laughs loudly. “Ow! She’s smacking me now, _see_ … nuts, I tell you! Completely bonkers!”

                Dean can’t help but laugh too as he hears Sam say “Ow” a few more times, accompanied by the sounds of more smacks and more rustling against the speaker of the phone.

                “Anyway!” his little brother finally bursts, covering up the delightful giggles from his wife that are still playing in the background. “Like I was saying … I’m— _we’re_ happy for you, dude. I hope that things go well, or at very least, you have a lot of fun. You deserve it.”

                Dean sighs, eventually melting with the reality of it all. His brother isn’t shocked—he’s just happy for him, like he knew he would be, but it happened a lot sooner than he thought that it would. And Jess is happy for him too—maybe a little _too happy_ , and he’s sort of dreading explaining all this to her, because she’s going to grill him for every single, minuscule detail, and Dean isn’t sure if he wants to share every bit of Cas just yet. He just got him to himself, after all. In any case, this has gone far better than expected and Dean soon finds that he’s grinning uncontrollably—more thankful than ever before that his family is _his_ family. He's truly a lucky guy. “Thanks, man” he says softly, pressing the phone firmly against his ear—the closest thing to hug that he can get right now.

                “No problem. Well … I’ll let you go. Like I said, I just wanted to check in.”

                Dean nods. “Yeah, okay.”

                Sam laughs. “Alright, man. Have a good one. I’ll call you in a few days.”

                “Okay, sounds good.” Dean breathes in deep, finally sitting up and looking back out the window at his baby, shining in the sun. “Oh … and, _uh_ —his name is Cas.”

                Sam hums across the line, and Dean can feel his brother’s smile, warm against his skin. “I’ll tell Jess … hopefully she’s not already in the other room planning your guys’ wedding.”

                Dean shakes his head and chuckles. “Bye, Sammy.”

                “Talk to ya soon, Dean.”


	14. Cost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long to post, and sorry if it kind of sucks. I don't know why, but I just couldn't find that writer's-groove this week. I hope you like it anyway!

* * *

          

                When he wakes up, he has a smile on his face. He’s happy. He’s happy, not only because he slept through the night for the first time in what feels like forever … something that he attributes to both the wonder that is Castiel’s mouth, as well as the super comfy bed that the man owns—but he also woke up knowing that for once, he’s not hiding anything from anyone. For years and years, every morning he would open his eyes and instantly begin thinking about what new secret he was keeping. He tossed and turned the nights that he spent with Lisa, because he could never bring himself to tell her that he just wasn’t happy anymore—he didn’t know how to explain it. He loved her, but overall … his life wasn’t what he wanted it to be. Before that, as well as after—he would wake up thinking about all the things he wanted to tell Sam, but didn’t because he couldn’t stand to burden him. And just over the last week, he jolted every restless hour, aching with these needs that Cas had brought to the surface; which made sleep damn near impossible; but now … all of that is gone. Sure, if he tried hard enough, he could probably think of something else that Sam or Cas or _someone_ didn’t need to know; but for once, he’s too content to try and make himself miserable again.

                Plus, as he lies here just thinking about life—a delicious smell is starting to fill up the room, and _fuck_ … he thinks Cas is cooking breakfast!

                Dean clamors out of bed, stumbling immediately and almost taking a header into the wall beside the bathroom. His legs are still a little shaky from that awesome blow job that Cas gave him right before they went to sleep; but in spite of nearly smashing his nose into his skull, he’s smiling even wider. _Cas is out there._ He finally steadies himself and slouches across the room to his duffle bag, pulling out some sweat pants and putting them on. He decides to leave his shirt off though—because Cas seems to really like him with his shirt off, and he really enjoys making the guy happy.

                After a few stretches and quick brush of his teeth, he heads out to the kitchen—where he finds an also-shirtless Cas, standing over the stove, pushing some scrambled eggs around a pan. Dean is grinning ear to ear now, because the sight is so simple, yet amazing and unbelievable all at once. The man’s hair is sticking up like he was just electrocuted, and the stubble across his jaw makes him look rough—and overall, more delicious than all the food that Dean is smelling.

 _Seriously_ , _no man should look this edible_.

                Dean sneaks up behind him and wraps his arms around Cas’s middle, finally hooking his chin over the guy’s shoulder once he’s firmly pressed into his back.

                “Good morning” he purrs directly into Cas’s ear—and Dean hums happily when Castiel tilts his head against his.

                “Good morning, Dean. I hope you like scrambled eggs.” Cas continues turning the eggs over again and again with a wooden spoon. He then sets the spoon down and reaches over to another pan that’s covered with a lid. “And sausage” he adds, taking off the cover to expose several round cuts of sausage sizzling underneath.

                “You bet your sweet ass, I do!” Dean laughs, squeezing Castiel tighter and then kissing his neck. “But do you have coffee? "Cause I need that first.”

                Cas nods and starts to pull away from the stove so Dean steps back, reluctantly letting him go.

                Dean imagines that if he could just ride him piggyback all day, he probably would. Touching him is far better than _not_ touching him.

                “I’m afraid it’s not as good as my sister’s coffee, though” Castiel says—a sleepy growl still lingering in his voice.

                Dean shivers happily with the sound, dragging his eyes up and down the man’s bare skin. “That’s fine, I think I’ll live.”

                Castiel turns around and their eyes meet for the first time since the sun pulled up from the ground. “Well, this is a lovely sight to see first thing in the morning” he eventually says—eyes dropping like dew across Dean’s chest.

                Dean continues letting his own eyes do the same, reveling in the tan, tight skin that’s waterfalling to slender hips and thick, strong thighs that he knows are hiding just beneath those pajama bottoms. “Tell me about it” he returns breathlessly.

                Cas gives a lopsided smile before eventually wandering to the other side of the U-shaped kitchen to pull open the cupboard and retrieve a canister of coffee from the shelf.

                The way his muscles move and the steady flow to his hands is making Dean’s mouth water. It’s also makes him need to touch him again. In a breath, he’s back behind Castiel, pulling him close and nipping at his neck until he feels goosebumps brush against his lips.

                “You are not making this easy” Castiel chuckles—spilling some coffee grounds at the side of the pot as the scoop shakes in his hand.

                Dean just shrugs and continues tasting and biting, thinking that he may not need caffeine at all if he can get a dose of _this_ every day _._

                “Here—how about _you_ make the coffee so I can ensure the eggs don’t burn. That will also keep you from molesting me throughout the rest of this process.”

                Dean laughs but finally steps away again. “Don’t count on it. It won’t take me that long to start a pot.”

                Castiel shoves the scoop at Dean’s chest before expertly dodging another attempt to grab at him. “Yes, well—breakfast is almost ready anyway. Let’s eat first and then you can continue what you were doing.”

                “Promise?” Dean chirps excitedly.

                Cas smiles as he picks up the wooden spoon once more. “Yes, I promise.”

***

                They ate around Castiel’s small kitchen table in more or less, silence. It was pleasant though. Cas read the paper and Dean watched him read it. It was so mundane, yet—sitting there, still shirtless, licking the salt off his lips after every bite of eggs, Cas made the simple act of catching up on the daily news, seem positively pornographic.

                “We should have a shirtless rule” Dean jumps in, breaking the quiet like a hammer on glass.

                Castiel doesn’t flinch however—instead, just flickd his eyes over the rim of his coffee mug to look at Dean with question. “A shirtless … _rule?_ ”

                Dean grins wider. His imagination had been running away with him for the last few minutes … waking up every morning to Cas, all bare and tasty for the next couple weeks sounded absolutely amazing to him, and he wondered about the other little surprises that he would find whilst he stay here.

                _Sandwiches and blow jobs?_

_Naked massages in the living room?_

_Tuning up Baby together in Cas’s garage?_

                No matter what he dreamed up, he could not bring himself to imagine the guy with a shirt on—thus his outburst. “Yeah. Whenever we’re in the house, we need to be shirtless.”

                Castiel huffs and sets down his coffee, taking his time to fold up the paper and then set that down as well.  “You are being ridiculous” he finally concludes, quickly standing and gathering his and Dean’s plates so that he can put them into the sink.

                Dean frowns as he watches the man leave to rinse off the dishes—feeling his hope pop with every bubble of soap hitting the stream from the faucet.

                “If we have a shirtless rule…” Cas continues on, still sounding stern and serious, “then we will also need to have a _bottomless_ rule … and then we would practically be nudists. It’s a slippery slope.”

                Dean relaxes and laughs—his full belly shaking at the table’s edge. “We could still have underwear on … if ya wanted.”

                Castiel snaps his eyes across the counter as he shakes his head. “Those count as _bottoms_ , Dean.”

                “Oh … well, okay. I mean … I’m fine with bein' a nudist.”

                “Oh really?” Cas asks, shutting off the water and then drying his hands on a dishtowel beside the sink. “Because it gets very humid here in the summer, and I have a lot of leather upholstered furniture. I do not foresee that combination having a pleasant outcome.”

                Dean grimaces—mind instantly flashing back to when he was a kid, sunburnt and stuck to the leather seats of the Impala.  “Oh … yeah. That kinda takes the fun out of it.”

                “However” Castiel muses on, and Dean watches the man drift off into his own, little world. “I suppose we could set down towels. That would increase the amount of laundry I have to do though—and I do like to conserve water. Yet, with another person here and the amount of showers and laundry our relations would result in, I suppose we would be using that much water anyway; also … the towels would not need to be washed immediately after _every_ use. In fact, being naked would equate to _less_ dirty clothes overall, so the laundry issue might balance out. It might actually be _more_ efficient that way … what was my water usage last month?” Castiel lowers his voice into a nearly silent mumble, and Dean can only gawk— _is he really turning this into something logical?_

                “Cas?” Dean asks, just as Castiel begins filing through some envelopes that are stacked near his phone at one end of the kitchen.

                Innocent blues tick up, seeming almost surprised that Dean is still there. “Yes?”

                “You know you’re insane, right?” Dean laughs, finally standing himself and sauntering to Cas’s side.

                The other man looks back to the water bill in his hand, and then around the room—like he’s unsure of how he got here. “Oh, yes … well … I tend to get carried away when it comes to efficiency and numbers” he says after another moment, hesitantly setting the bill back onto the counter.

                Dean smiles as he snakes his arms around him. “You are so cute.”

                Castiel smiles back, but his eyes are still lingering on the bills.

                Dean watches him a second longer, feeling how tense the guy has become in his arms. “You want to finish figuring this out, don’t you?”

                Cas blushes as he nods. “Do you mind?”

                Dean can only laugh before kissing Castiel on the cheek and squeezing him tighter. “Not at all. Go crazy, ya weirdo.”

***

                As Cas excitedly got out what had to be the biggest calculator/ _math-doing-thingy_ he had ever seen, along with a stack of old bills and his laptop where he pulled up the town’s water records—Dean busied himself with looking around the house. He didn’t spend much time taking it all in yesterday, because he and Cas were mostly in the bedroom; but now that he has a minute, he finds that he really wants to see this place. He starts in the backyard, wandering around the small garden that the man had obviously built up by hand. Its filled with various flowers and fruit trees; all of which are very well maintained and evenly spaced—put together and seeming so perfectly _Cas._ From there and over the fence, Dean looks out across the wide field that stretches behind the man’s property. There is a farmhouse way off in the distance and a few cows scattered like specks across the golden canvas, but other than that, there is nothing beyond these pickets. It must be nice to not feel so encased—even though there are neighbors on either side, it doesn’t feel quite as boxed in as a normal neighborhood does. Dean’s old house was planted right in the center of a hundred other cookie-cutter homes, and he often felt strangled by the sense of suburbia; but here, the lots are bigger and everyone’s space is unique and well-worn in. He likes it. He likes it a lot.

                After the sun had risen some more, heating up the air enough that his skin began to stick, he moved back inside. He then wandered through the living room and around the couches until he eventually stood once again at the large book shelves—his hands in the loose pockets of his sweats, but his eyes free and wandering across the clutter in front of him. The books were of a wide variety, but they didn’t seem to be in any particular order. Cookbooks sat beside novels, which sat beside dictionaries that snuggled close with science texts and the bible. In front of these were knickknacks and picture frames, all making up the pieces of Castiel’s life. Dean stood there for a while trying to piece it all together, but it wasn’t easy—because with everything else being so organized, _this_ seemed to be a veritable chaos.

                “It would be more cost effective.”

                Dean jerks right to see Castiel—who has somehow materialized at his side. _“Woah—what?”_ he yelps in surprise.

                Cas just stares back at him, looking slightly crazed, but pleased—kind of how he looks right after he orgasms and Dean suddenly realizes— _just how much_ this guy likes numbers. “To be nude all the time … it would be more cost effective. With the average amount of water that I use to do laundry and with the estimated amount of time we will likely be spending in the house—it would be more cost effective to not be wearing any clothes while we’re here.”

                Dean grins, ultimately letting that grin burst into a laugh. “Wow, dude … you’re … you’re somethin’ else.”

                Castiel blinks some and then stands straighter, as if he’s finally coming down from the data-high that he’s been riding. “Yes, well … I, _um_ , I like to figure these things out.”

                Dean slips his hand down Cas’s arms until their fingers are twining together. “Obviously” he mutters.

                Castiel smiles and shakes his head—but doesn’t say anything else right away, instead looking over to the shelves and letting his gaze drape across their contents.

                Dean watches him—feeling overwhelmed by his presence, but unbelievably contented by it too.

                “That’s my brother” Cas whispers suddenly, using his other hand to gesture towards a picture frame in front of Dean’s face.

                Dean looks at it, seeing a young man with a stalky build, leaning up against the side of a building while a lollipop stick hangs out of his mouth. His smile seems almost menacing—but in a goodhearted sort of way, and Dean imagines that the dude is probably kind of fun to hang out with, but probably kind of crazy too.

                “Gabriel …” Cas continues. “He’s younger there. He’s in his late thirties now. He’s the oldest of the three of us.”

                Dean nods in understanding, and then nods to the picture. “Do you see him much?”

                Castiel shakes his head again, frowning at the end. “Not much anymore. He moved to California a few years ago, but he’ll come back to visit our father every now and then.”

                “Oh” Dean mumbles. By the tone of the guy’s voice, he can tell that there’s something more to what Cas is saying, but he doesn’t think he has any right to ask about it—so he figures he should just change the subject. “Who are they?” he says in another breath, pointing to a picture on a higher shelf. A man and a woman stand behind the glass, holding hands, much like the two men are doing now, and smiling grandly at the camera—with a large building stretching up behind them.

                “Those are my parents—shortly after they married” Cas says, but his voice doesn’t sound any more eased than it was before. “That was the day they opened up the new factory.”

                “Factory?” Dean asks curiously.

                “Yes. My mother’s family had been in the shipping business for years—mainly trucking. My father was an engineer that worked for her family's company and that’s how they met … my mother was his manager.”

                “Office romance?” Dean laughs.

                Cas attempts a smile before nodding. "My grandfather—on my _mother’s_ side, did not approve at first; but my father was also an inventor, and presented some ideas on how to make the cooling systems in the trucks more efficient, as well as better ways to track inventory. My grandfather warmed up to him shortly after that and gave them his blessing. My parents went on to open a factory here and it brought a whole new source of income to the town. The company quickly expanded, and eventually— _Divine Trucking and Transport Supplies_ became a well-known name in the business.”

                “I’ve seen those trucks—they’re everywhere” Dean says, impressed.

                Cas nods again, as if it’s all not that big of a deal. “My parents were very successful; however, you would never know it if you met them outside of the office. They were extremely modest and frugal.”

                “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

                Castiel chuckles and squeezes Dean’s hand. “I suppose that’s true.” He sighs a second later and lifts his blue eyes back to the picture, staring at it until his body seems to sag.  “I always thought I would end up working in that building.”

                “Why didn’t you?” Dean asks, now—even more curious about the details of this man’s life.

                “After my mother passed away, my dad couldn’t stand to be around that place—so he sold it.”

                Dean frowns and looks down at the ground, understanding all too well how something like that can upturn everything that once made so much sense in the world.

                “Everything I had planned stopped after that. I had to re-think it all.”

                “That sucks, Cas. I’m—I’m sorry.” Dean shutters with his own words—he _hates_ it when people say them to him, but here he is, offering the empty sentiment to Castiel.

                Thankfully, the other man doesn’t seem to mind. “Well, I—I found my way, I suppose” he finally mutters, clearing his throat and tearing his eyes from the frame.

                Dean nods and desperately tries to think of yet another way to change the subject, because his first did nothing to cheer the man up. “So … I see that you _hate_ to read” he chortles sarcastically.

                Castiel cocks his head his direction—seeming confused but eventually softens. “ _Ah_ —you’re teasing me.”

                Dean shrugs just before leaning in to steal a kiss from those chapped, pink lips. “Yeah. I am. It’s what I do.”

                Castiel rolls his eyes, but he does seem lighter now, and Dean pats himself on the back with his success. “What can I say? I like my books.”

                Dean barks out a laugh as he steps back again and gestures to the ceiling-high shelves. “Cas, _buddy_ … I think you passed _like_ a long, long time ago.”

                The other man purses his lips as he takes in all his literature— but he’s soon beaming at them as if they are all old friends that have come back to greet him. “Okay … it may count as an _obsession_ of sorts.”

                Dean grins and pulls himself behind the other man once more, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s waist like he did before. He breathes him in—the faint smell of shampoo that still clings to his hair, the hints of their breakfast speckled across his skin, the moments of coffee every time his chest expands on the air. The warmth of his body swims underneath Dean’s touch and it soothes him. This is all new and exciting, _yes_ —but it also seems familiar and safe. He felt this way whenever his parents would take him and Sam to some distant relatives’ house. It was different, but still somehow— _theirs_ , and that’s how Castiel feels when he's in his arms.

                He’s _his_ —even in all his newness.

                “Dean?” Castiel whispers—making Dean realize that he's been standing here like this for some time now, just latching possessively onto the guy.

                “ _Hm_?” Dean hums—a little embarrassed, but not enough to let go.

                “You’re costing me money.”

                Dean scrunches his eyebrows together as he pulls back. He wasn’t expecting _that_. He quickly cranes his head around to look Castiel in the eye. “What?”

                Castiel only stares at him in return—his expression serious with one brow raised. Then, his eyes finally drop to Dean’s waist. “Your pants.”

                It takes him a moment, but when it sinks in—Dean is grinning so hard, it’s making his cheeks hurt. “Oh—well, _shit!_ ” He sweeps forward and yanks down his sweats, quickly kicking them off and standing back up to await approval.

                “ _Still_ costing me” Cas says again, eyes narrowing on Dean’s boxer briefs.

                Dean laughs and gets to work pulling those down as well, leaving him bare-assed and blushing in the middle of Castiel’s living room. “What about you?” he finishes, frowning at the still half-clothed man in front of him.

                Cas just smirks, stepping forward to reach around Dean and grab his hips with both hands, pulling him towards him and grinding their perking dicks together. “It’s _my_ house … I can waste money if I want to.”

                He inhales deeply, but Dean’s laugh is quickly cut off by Cas’s tongue licking hungrily into his mouth; yet, he manages to pull away before melting completely. “Still … I thought you said you were frugal.”

                Those blue eyes burn around the edges, looking hot and dangerous.

                “You just crunched all those numbers …” Dean adds, letting his hands fall to the top of Castiel’s waistband—fingers tugging on the fabric lightly.

                Castiel growls as he lays his hands over of Dean’s, forcing them down and making Dean’s fingers slip the bottoms over the hump of Cas’s ass. The guy’s hard cock soon pops free and presses into Dean’s bare skin. Those pink lips then curl into a wicked smirk and Dean shivers, knowing that somehow he’s going to pay for the slight manipulation… and he’s going to enjoy every single second of it.


	15. What's What

                He’s having a hard time walking straight. It could be because he spent half of yesterday crouched beside baby, buffing all her chrome … or it could be because he spent the other half crouched in front of Castiel—touching himself and putting on a show for the guy. Dean grins as he stares out across the backyard to the long field behind the house—it doesn’t matter why he’s sore, he’s happy either way.

                It has become a bit of a routine this last week. They wake up, they cook breakfast together, drink their coffee and then Cas goes off and does this or that, and Dean goes out into the backyard and just looks around. He has even ventured beyond the fence a couple times to explore the tall grass that is rarely touched by man (after he goes back inside and puts on some clothes, of course). It’s therapeutic in a way. He always loved wandering around when he was younger—he liked the solitude, the time to think and explore places where people just _aren’t_. It allows him to unravel his mind a little and focus on being in the now. And getting to do that every day? Getting that time … being _allowed_ that time from someone who is growing to be a very important person in his life? Well, it’s like he’s finally getting permission to truly be himself.  He knows to think of it that way sounds kind of lame, but he’s okay with that. He’s okay with a lot of things that he wasn’t necessarily okay with even just a week ago. He's told Cas more about his life than he has really ever shared with anyone. Sam knows most of it of course, but that’s because he was _there._

                Cas now knows about the car accident—how much it hurt Dean to relearn everything. He knows details about Dean’s mom’s battle with cancer, and about how his dad went crazy afterwards. He now knows that Dean has always thought guys were attractive, but never had the balls to really do anything about it. Hell, he even knows that Dean went and yanked it in the bathroom at Lew’s after he saw Cas shirtless that first time.

                That of course led to Cas immediately taking him out to the garage and making Dean promise not to move while he laid back on his own creeper and fingered himself into a moaning mess.

                _That ... was awesome._

                _All of it_ is awesome. The way he can feel so comfortable with Castiel, but also the way he has to stay on his toes because he never knows what to expect. The guy is fucking _crazy_ at times. He is so wild and spontaneous and willing—Dean would never have guessed, not in a million years. When they first met, the strangest thing about the dude was that he was a businessman driving a tow truck. Now that seems so mundane in comparison to all the _other_ things:

                Cas prefers to eat his food off of Dean’s stomach.

                Cas enjoys listening to classical music while he makes Dean come—waiting for the crescendo and trying to time it perfectly. If it doesn’t happen that way, they wait a bit and then try again.

                The guy likes to be called _Sir,_ but will always ask permission before they try anything new. Dean didn’t know someone could be so dominant while still being so courteous. He likes it.

                But there’s the non-sexual stuff as well. Cas will be very blunt about nearly everything. He doesn’t over-share, but if the conversation calls for it, he doesn’t hesitate in talking about things that others might normally shy away from—bodily functions, short comings, embarrassing stories from the past. Cas just _talks_. Yet, he still doesn’t like to talk about his family. Dean knows some details, like how the guy has two siblings—one of which, he doesn’t speak with often. Their father lives on the other side of town in an assisted care home, and Cas goes to visit him on Wednesdays, and afterwards—he goes to his mother’s grave and leaves her flowers. He apologizes over nothing but is oblivious at times where others might find it wise to apologize. He loves numbers but seems to hate statistics, thinking they are generalizing complicated situations too much. He can still be very stoic and serious, even while naked. And Dean isn’t sure, but he also thinks that the guy might be a little obsessed with small, furry animals … he has seen quite a few cat pictures on Cas’s laptop when he’s happened to look over his shoulder.

                These are all things he learned here and there through idle conversation or by just happening upon them; but if Dean ventured to ask for more specific facts, Cas would shut down. He once asked the guy why he and his brother don’t speak that often, and Cas merely shrugged it off and went quiet. Dean later asked in a roundabout way, how his father came to be in a care facility—given that he can’t be older than mid-fifties, but Cas simply mumbled something about “deteriorating health” and then busied himself with the dishes from their dinner that night. And when Dean was stupid enough to ask how Castiel’s mother had passed, the guy actually told him “I don’t like to talk about that.”

                Dean _still_ feels guilty for bringing it up. The rest of that evening, the man was silent and uncharacteristically sad. Dean didn’t know if he should try to apologize again and talk about it, or just leave him be— but since they are still trying to get to know one another, and things have been rushed with him basically moving in and all ... Dean decided to leave Castiel alone for a while. He went into town and picked up some things for Baby—some wax and cleaners, and some new filters that she probably didn’t need right away, but certainly wouldn’t hurt to replace.  That was a couple of days ago now and Cas is more or less back to normal. Dean supposes it’s good he’s finding out where the lines are—so that he doesn’t cross them again. Besides, he doesn’t know what all this even is yet; and he imagines that the only reason their current living arrangement is working is because of the two week cap that’s been put on it while they wait for the test results. That timeline is keeping them from having the “relationship talk”. They both know it, and it’s been lingering in the air between them for days now; but he thinks that Cas doesn’t want to bring it up because he doesn’t want to presume that Dean wants to stay. And Dean doesn’t want to bring it up because he doesn’t want to assume that Cas _wants_ him to stay.

                 As far as either of them know, once they get those results … all this might be over.

                The thought kicks him in the gut. He knows that that’s a very real possibility, but standing here now—hands resting on the low pickets of Castiel’s fence, he feels safe. Dean doesn’t want to give up that feeling in a week; and he figures, if things go well—he might not have to. He could stay longer and see where things go with the guy. Yet, what if the test results come back and he’s infected with _God knows what_ , and he infected Cas with it too? Would Cas hate him for that? He can’t imagine the man will just be _cool_ with it. Dean certainly wouldn’t be cool with it if the roles were reversed; but right now as he dives head first into the hypothetical, he thinks that _he_ _could_ get over it … if that meant he could stay _here_ ... with Cas.

                The sides of his skull stab and _ping._ It’s all too much to think about at once, even though he still tries. He tries to imagine staying in Missouri, driving back and forth to visit Sam and Jess and starting a new life here. He tries to think about living in Castiel’s house, making it his own too. He tries to think about Baby having a permanent place on that driveway.

_It’s a lot._

                He supposes that he doesn’t need to work it all out just this minute, considering he still isn’t a hundred percent sure of what Cas is thinking, and the guy _is_ sort of the linchpin to this whole deal.

                _Take it one day at a time, Winchester. Just have fun. Enjoy yourself._

The birds chirp from somewhere overhead and the grass rolls beneath the fingers of the wind, and he fills up his lungs with a long, soothing breath. _No,_ he doesn’t need to figure this out now. It’s too nice of a day.

***

                “Anna has invited us over for dinner.”

                Dean was in the middle of texting Sam when Cas walked into the room, and what he said made Dean's blood run cold. “Really? _Us_ … like … you and me?”

                Castiel comes and sits beside him on the couch— adjusting the towels they had lain out days before as they scrunch beneath his thighs. The naked-rule has become a very serious thing in this house, which is hilarious because Dean didn’t think that it would be; but Cas apparently doesn’t joke around when it comes to efficiency. Dean attempts to look the man in the eye, but he still finds his gaze wandering south every now and then. It doesn’t seem to be an issue though, because Castiel’s gaze often wanders as well.

                “Yes, she invited the both of us.”

                “Why?” Dean asks, feeling too panicked now to look anywhere but Cas’s face.

                “Because I told her that you were staying with me and she was kind enough to extend the invitation to you too. I usually have dinner at her house at least once a week. I was actually calling to cancel on account that I am hosting _you,_ but she would have none of it. As you know, she is very stubborn.”

                Dean huffs and nods but he’s still panicking. It’s one thing to eat at Anna’s restaurant, but eating at _her_ house? Does she even know about all this? Does she know why Dean stayed or even, why he came back? Does she know that he and Cas are … are a _thing_ now? What is he even supposed to say to her? “Hey, how ya doin? _I just sucked your brother’s cock this morning, pass the potatoes?”_ Dean is breathing harder and is mindlessly digging his nails into his own thigh.

_Shit …_

                “Dean? What’s the matter?”

                “Nothing” Dean yelps, snapping back to Castiel—unaware that he’s drifted into the space of worry and doubt.

                “Well, that’s obviously not true” Cas grumbles, nodding towards Dean’s leg where his knuckles are turning white from gripping it.

                Dean blushes and lets go, quickly covering the nail marks with the flat of his palm. “Sorry …” he whispers, shaking his head. “I just … does she … I mean— _know?_ ”

                “Anna _does_ know about us.” Cas leans back against the soft cushion of the couch with a smile. “I told her a few days ago.”

                Dean exhales, relaxing a little bit but that still doesn’t answer _all_ of his questions. “Okay, but like … _what_ does she know?”

                The other man slits his eyes as if he’s trying to read Dean’s mind. “What do you mean?”

                “Like—does she know _why_ I stayed?”

                A small frown pulls at the edges of Cas’s mouth. “If you are talking about the STD tests, then _yes_ , she knows. However, she found that out from some other nosy individual who saw us at the clinic. She called me on Wednesday to ask about it. She figured that that was the reason I hadn’t been showing up for breakfast like I normally do.”

                His stomach is flipping in on itself. Cas wasn’t kidding about this town not respecting his privacy; and he hadn’t thought about how his staying here might disrupt the guy’s usual routine. It makes sense that Anna would be asking questions; Dean just didn’t think about how much Cas might share with her—then again … the guy doesn’t seem to enjoy keeping secrets. “So … she knows everything?” he finally asks, swallowing down his worry the best that he can ... and he doesn’t even really know why he’s so worried. Maybe it’s because having dinner with a member of Castiel’s family makes this all more real somehow. Right now, they are basically playing house; but once they venture outside of these walls, the pretending falls away, and they'll be forced to give this whole thing some sort of shape. Or it just could be that he doesn’t want to face Anna’s impending inquisition … she seems like the type to grill her sibling’s significant others. Hell, she reminds Dean a lot of himself, actually. The more and more that he thinks about it, Anna treats Castiel how _he_ treats Sam; and if that’s really the case, this dinner is likely to destroy him. After all, a dinner is how he knew Jess was a good fit for his baby brother. She not only survived Dean’s third degree, but also his burnt steak. Whatever he threw at her, she threw back just as hard. He was impressed; but Dean doesn’t think that _he’s_ got those kind of skills, not when he’s still trying to figure out where he stands amidst all this.

                _Shit_ … he’s going to get eaten alive.

                “I can tell her that we can’t make it … if you’re uncomfortable.”

                “What? No … I— _uh_ …” _Man up, Winchester!_ “It’s fine. I guess, I’m just nervous about what she might say … about all of this. If she knows about the _uh_ … the testing and all that, she might not be too happy with me.”

                Castiel sighs and then nods, patting Dean on the back a moment later. “That's true. She may kill you tonight.”

                Dean gapes as he twists back to look Castiel in the eye. “Wow, thanks for that vote of confidence!”

                The other man just shrugs and looks away. “She _is_ my older sister, Dean; and you could have potentially given me a venereal disease. She probably won’t be thrilled with you. In fact, you should check all your food for razor blades before you eat.”

                “Dude!” Dean yelps, feeling even more nervous and horrible than he did before.

                Castiel’s devilish chuckle rumbles across the couch. “Dean … stop worrying. Yes, she knows that we were getting tested, however—she doesn’t know _why._ I could be to blame just as much as you are as far as she’s concerned. Or, we could just be doing the responsible thing and are making sure that we’re both clean before moving forward sexually. She doesn’t know the details and I don’t plan on telling her, so will you stop having an unnecessary meltdown?” Cas laughs some more, finally pulling himself off the couch to turn and stare Dean into submission.

                Dean smirks but nods, still feeling the other half of his worry gnaw at his gut. At least the rest has filtered away. Thank god Cas is logical about these things, and he doesn’t pussy foot around the facts when Dean is being an overdramatic idiot.

                “Good. Now, get up. We need to get in the shower, and if you are going pleasure me one more time before we leave, then we need to get in _now_.” With that, the man is turning on his heels—tight, bare ass disappearing around the corner to the hall.

                The rest of Dean’s worry is left on the cushions of the couch because he is moving too quick to remember to pick it up.

***

                Her house looks newer than Castiel’s—bigger too, and it’s definitely more modern in terms of style. Everything about it seems looming and intimidating, and Dean finds himself bouncing on his heels as he stands on the front porch, waiting for the woman to open the door. It makes his sore legs ache even more, but the pain is somehow grounding, so he welcomes it.

                “Will you stop fidgeting?” Castiel asks, side eying Dean with humor.

                “Sorry” Dean mumbles, stilling himself and shoving his hands into his pockets instead. It’s hard to believe that just over a week ago, he was flirting with this girl and fantasizing about her while he yanked it … and _now_ …

                The door swings open to reveal the fiery redhead within. “ _Ah_ , hello boys” Anna chirps happily.

                “ _Anna_ ” Castiel returns politely. “Thank you for inviting us both to dinner. You are very kind.”

                She reaches out and pulls Castiel inside, patting him on the back as he passes her by. “Yeah, yeah … stop with the formalities. I want to talk to _Dean._ ”

                Dean chokes on his tongue as Anna leans forward and yanks him in as well, giving him a quick hug before she shuts the door behind them.

                “So …” she says a moment later, grinning and smiling wickedly between the two. Dean suddenly sees the family resemblance. “All that flirting with _me_ was just because Cas here wasn’t putting out yet, _hm_?”

                “Anna!” Cas yelps, taking one large step forward and growling at her.

                “What? I’m just trying to figure all this out” she says innocently. “I mean—his car breaks down. You pick him up. He comes into my bakery for some pie and gives me that _million dollar smile_ , trying to get lucky. Then the next day, you two spend hours just making disgusting eyes at each other—you almost kiss him, freak out, _leave—_ a _nd_ then he reappears a couple days later. Now, not even a week afterwards, you two are living together and apparently swapping herpes.”

                The blood drains from his head like he was just decapitated. Dean feels woozy _. What ... the fuck  ... is happening?_

“I swear to God, Anna … you have all the class of a wild boar. Besides, it wasn't over a week ago. More like a week and half.”

                Anna rolls her eyes. “Oh shush, _little_ brother—I’m just having fun with you.” She laughs some more and then pats the side of Castiel’s face—and he just as quickly swats her hand away.

                “You are making this all very uncomfortable. _Look_ —Dean is practically catatonic now.”

                Both Castiel and Anna turn to focus on Dean’s white, blank face, and their eyes on him seem to make the world spin even faster.

                “Oh dear … you’re right. I’m sorry, I just assumed that he could handle it, since he seems so big and tough.”

                “No, he’s quite the opposite, actually. He’s very sensitive. It’s really rather sweet.”

                “Really? That’s nice to hear. So many of the men you’ve dated have been such meat heads.”

                “Now that’s not fair. I’ve dated many sensitive and thoughtful individuals. You remember Alan?”

                “ _Alan_? The realtor? That guy was so fake. Everything was a sale to him. I couldn’t stand it!”

                “You are just too judgmental. Not everyone can have epic, French romances, Anna. That’s not how life works.”

                “It _can_ work that way, if you want it to. You’d know that if you ever left this town.”

                “I don’t want to get into this debate again … now, aren’t we here for a nice dinner, or are you just planning on feeding us with your opinions all night?”

                _“Jeez,_ Cas—you’re so sensitive. I just like to know what’s going on in my brother’s life. You’re the only one even willing to share it with me, after all.”

                “Yes … well, if you keep being so nosy, I may retract that will.”

                “Fine, fine. Come on, dinner is almost ready.”

                Dean watches the woman move past Castiel and head through the entryway and around the corner to what is most likely the kitchen. Once she’s gone, his wide-eyed stare circles back to the other man who is leering his direction with what looks like worry strewn about his face.

                “Are you alright?” he asks, stepping into him and laying his hand upon Dean’s shoulder.

                Dean can only nod—his mouth too dry to form words. There are too many question rushing around in his head—the main one being, _what all does Anna really know?_ She apparently knows about the almost-kiss that they shared at that gas station. And she certainly knows more about her brother’s past than Dean does—which isn’t really surprising, but to have to it all be thrown out into the air like that, left him in a state of shock. Dean’s not sure if he’s going to make it through this night if it continues on like this. That was only the first few minutes. What the hell are those two going to talk about throughout the rest of dinner?

                If there is a god, he’ll make sure that Dean chokes to death on the appetizer before he has the chance to find out.


	16. Dinner

                The next fifteen minutes are relatively uneventful. They filtered into the dining room and waited for Anna to bring out the meal—the meal that Dean finally calmed down enough to smell, and it smelled absolutely delicious. He wasn’t sure what it was. There was a large roast of some sort in the center of the table, with tiny onions circling it—swimming in a reddish, sweet smelling sauce. There was another platter of long, asparagus-broccoli looking things, as well as some scalloped potatoes in a bowl beside that … at least, they look like scalloped potatoes. They could be something else entirely—Anna _did_ study in France after all, so this whole meal could be made up of stuff Dean has never thought to try before; though it all looked normal enough, so he wasn’t too hesitant about eating any of it.

                Once they all had sat down, and after Cas commented on how wonderful everything appeared—which led to a short conversation about Anna learning the recipe from one of the head chefs in Paris, Dean finally began to relax. The initial shock of the earlier conversation was finally starting to wear off and he thought that this dinner may not be as bad as he previously anticipated.

 

                “So Dean—which wine would you prefer?” Anna asked him, once everyone had a serving of each dish on their plates.

                “Oh, I _uh_ —”

                “Dean, I implore you _not_ to answer that question.”

                Dean cocks his head to the right to look back at Castiel who is sitting across from him. The man seems serious enough—not joking at all.

                Castiel then sighs and turns to glare at Anna as she sits on the end of the dining table to Dean’s left. “You see, there _is_ a right and wrong answer to that question … and if you answer it incorrectly, we will be here for the next three hours listening to her explain _why_ it’s incorrect.”

                Anna rolls her eyes at her brother as she straightens her napkin across her lap. “Oh, you’re _so_ over dramatic.”

                “Really?” Castiel carries on with his brows raised high in the air. “I recall you berating a waiter in Nashville because you asked him what wine he would recommend with the swordfish, and he said _Pinot_.”

                “I did not _berate_ him; but someone working at a supposed five star restaurant should at least know the very basics of wine pairings! I mean, _honestly!_ I just cannot believe that someone would want to ruin a beautiful cut of fish with such a _basic_ wine; and it was a cheap bottle no less! It was offensive, just truly offensive!”

                Castiel huffs as he peers back at Dean. “You see? She becomes a lunatic over these things.”

                “I am _not_ a lunatic! Now you’re just being cruel. I never tease you about your obsession with numbers.”

                The other man bursts with a laugh before gawking back at the woman beside him. “That is practically _all_ you do! When I told you I was going into accounting, you asked me if I had already picked out my headstone because I would surely die of boredom.”

                “Well—it _is_ boring. Back me up, Dean … do _you_ find numbers exciting?”

                Dean lurches with his sudden and uncomfortable inclusion in this debate. “ _Uh_ …”

                “Don’t drag him into this, Anna. Besides, I’m sure he finds numbers just as exciting as he does, _wine!_ ”

                “At least wine is a good topic of conversation, unlike _taxes_ ” Anna snips, curling her lip and shaking her head at her brother in such a _sibling-way,_ Dean has to laugh.

                Both the Novaks turn and stare at him as soon as his chuckle is heard, and Dean instantly reddens. “Sorry” he mumbles, drooping his head back to his plate and looking at the food longingly. No one has begun eating yet, and he really would like to, but he doesn’t want to be rude.

                Castiel sighs—making Dean peek back up at him. “No, Dean— _I’m_ sorry. Here we are fighting like children when we should be enjoying this lovely dinner and acting civilized.”

                “Yes. I apologize as well. I shouldn’t have tried to quiz you on the wine” Anna hums while reaching out to pat Dean's the arm.

                “ _Ha!_ ” Cas yelps, sitting straighter and all at once, making everyone else jump. “I _knew_ you were quizzing him!”

                “So what? I’m supposed to be seeing if he’s a good fit for you, and someone’s choice in wine says a lot about a person!”

                “You’re not my keeper, _Anna_. I am perfectly capable of seeing who is or isn’t a good fit for me.”

                “Is that so?”

                Castiel puffs out his chest and nods. “ _Yes_ , it is.”

                “So … what about Daniel?”

                Castiel deflates instantly. “That’s not fair.”

                “Or Marcus.”

                “He had a good soul … but he was just going through a lot of trials when we were seeing each other.”

                “You mean _literal_ trials?”

                “He never actually went to court! You know that. They made an early settlement.”

                Anna laughs sarcastically as she shakes her head. “Oh, my mistake then. You’re right, he was just a diamond underneath all that coal.”

                “You are always so quick to judge.”

                “Because _you’re_ not!” Anna has a slightly shocked and annoyed expression on her face, that curves into malice once her eyes flick back to Dean. “You see, Dean—our little town is probably the most progressive in all the Midwest … do you know why?”

                Dean swallows the sand that has built up in his throat as he stiffly shakes his head.

                “ _Anna_ …” Castiel growls, a serious warning in his voice, but the redhead doesn’t seem at all bothered by it.

                “Well, my dear, sweet, _proper_ little brother apparently made it his life’s mission to turn all the men here, _gay_.”

                “I didn’t _turn_ them gay!” Castiel barks, taking a long moment to breathe in deep to seemingly calm himself. “I just … _showed_ them how repressed they were.”

                Anna huffs again. “Oh— _big difference_.”

                “It is! I wasn’t some masked villain, running from home to home—bending a bunch of straight men with my fierce, gay will.”

                Anna squints at Castiel—jaw twitching on another apparent argument; but then all together, the tension fades and the girl begins to laugh—loud and careless, her beautiful hair bouncing across her shoulders. “ _Bending a bunch of straight men_?” she crows, tapping the table with her hand. “ _Feirce, gay will_?”

                Castiel starts to chuckle too, and soon—both the Novaks are busting up over their plates.

                Dean is wide eyed and gaping at the two, sparsely laughing as well, but mostly—trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

                “I had this mental image of you wearing a cape and climbing through windows!” Anna chokes, suddenly laughing harder and wiping at her eyes.

                “Beware the _Homo Marauder!_ ” Castiel howls back, collapsing against the arm of his chair.

                Anna cackles “He’ll turn your husband gay with his staff of evil!”

                They both erupt again and Dean’s head hurts. This has to be the strangest dinner he’s ever attended, and he hasn’t even _eaten_ anything yet.

                “Okay … okay. Oh my god— _stop!_ ” Anna gasps, grinning wildly and waving her hand in the air. “I can’t breathe … I need to get up.” The woman then pulls herself from her seat and stumbles toward the kitchen. “I’m going to get the wine and hopefully—calm down before all the food gets cold.”

                Castiel takes several more deep breaths, still breaking with short chortles here and there, but ultimately—settling down. “Yes, yes … we should eat.”

                “Sorry, Dean!” Anna calls out from around the corner and Dean smiles in that direction, even though he knows she can’t see him.

                “Yes—our apologies. We tend to get … carried away.”

                Anna returns with a tall, green bottle and rounds the table so she can fill Dean’s glass. Then she moves to Castiel’s and fills his too. When she gets back to her own seat, she pours herself a modest amount and finally sits back down. “Alright … everyone, please enjoy.”

                “Yes, thank you again, Anna. It looks and smells wonderful—and I’m sure the wine only enhances it.”

                “It most certainly will” she says assuredly, looking very proud of herself.

                “Well I _uh_ …” Dean begins, hesitant about trying to talk, but it seems like a fitting place for it. It’s not like he can stay quiet the entire meal, “I don’t know about all that. I’m not much of a wine-guy, but it _does_ all look amazing.”

                Anna giggles again before she takes a short sip from her glass. “So, you’re telling me that we could have avoided _all that_ if Castiel had just let you answer my question in the first place?”

                The corner of Cas’s mouth quirks up as he chuckles some more. “All of _that_ still probably would have occurred either way.”

                “No. If Dean had told me he didn’t know much about wine, then I would have just brought this one out and been done with it.”

                “ _No_ , you would have felt it your duty to _educate_ him on the matter, and then we would have _never_ been able to leave.”

                “Oh, whatever! It doesn’t matter now … anyway, Dean …” Anna redirects, turning to Dean while cutting into her food.

                “Tell me, what is it about my brother that made you want to come back to Huntsville?”

                “Anna! That is very personal!” Castiel jumps in—knife and fork gripped tightly in his hands.

                “No it isn’t. He was on a _cross country road trip_ , and then all of a sudden, he isn’t _._ Obviously he came back for a reason, and that reason appears to be _you_. So as a dutiful older sister, like you so aptly pointed out, I want to know the details!”

                Castiel mutters something around a bite of food, but looks as if he’s given up on arguing over this particular issue—something that truly surprises Dean, considering how much these two seem to like to debate.

                “Well … _uh_ ” Dean begins, getting a very apparent _I’m sorry_ -look from the other man, but there is some unmistakable curiosity in there too.  “Well, I guess I didn’t realize … how much … I mean …” Dean clears his throat and focuses on cutting into his slice of meat. “I was … _attracted_ to him, but the more we talked …” Dean blushes and shoves some food into his mouth in order to buy himself some time to think about what to say next.

                “So—you’re telling me that just after a day or two of talking with my little brother, you canceled your whole trip just to see him again?”

                Dean nearly chokes, because in a way— _yes_ , that is what he did … but there was a lot more to it than that. There was _Jonas_ , and there was all that homesickness after New York, and there was the museum … and _then_ there was Cas. He’s not sure if he should say all that though. It doesn’t seem like good dinner conversation, and it certainly won’t win him any points with Anna. “Well …”

                “Or did you two hook up _before_ you left last time? Cas said you _almost_ kissed—but he could've been lying. He _does_ tend to be rather loose with men.”

                Now it’s _Castiel_ who appears to be choking—coughing and sputtering before desperately grabbing at his napkin. “Wow … _thank you_ , dear sister! That is _just_ what I want him to hear!”

                “What? I’m sure he figured it out considering that you both had to go get tested” Anna clips back, not even looking up as she stabs at the greens on her plate.

                “You don’t know what you’re talking about! And in any case, it has been a long time since I was … _loose_ , as you so tastelessly stated. I may have been a wild child, but those days have passed.” Castiel grumbles something else for a few more seconds, but Dean can’t make it out. Soon, the man exhales exhaustively and is focusing back on Dean. “I had a … _reputation_ in high school.”

                “He slept with everyone on the football team … and the soccer team. And half of the basketball team, if I’m not mistaken.”

                “As usual, you _are_ mistaken. It is statistically impossible for _all_ those boys to have been queer in some way. I … I just had a talent for finding the ones who _were_.”

                “I’m still amazed you never got beat up” Anna says lightheartedly, as if she is commenting on something completely innocuous.

                “I was certainly threatened a time or two, but it would have been a lot worse if our father wasn’t so influential.”

                Anna nods and hums in agreement before turning back to Dean. “You see, our parents’ factory employed most of the town—still does, only it’s not in the family anymore ... our dad is still a shareholder and a figurehead. Anyway, everyone owed their livelihood to _them_ —which meant that we were sort of _untouchable_ by association. Where _I_ took that to mean, we should uphold our family’s good name, my brothers took it as a challenge.” Anna laughs softly and takes another sip of her wine. “Castiel here was just the promiscuous one—Gabriel though … he was the _real_ trouble maker.”

                Castiel nods too and eventually swallows the bite he was chewing. “Yes … I don’t think there was a store in this town that he hadn’t pilfered.”

                “He _was_ arrested once, but that was because dad insisted on it.”

                “Oh, that’s right. The sheriff had brought him to the front door. Wasn’t he intoxicated?” Castiel asks, wondering across the table at his sister.

                “Yes. He was caught spray painting the side of that gas station on the corner of Temple. I think it took them a week to find a paint thick enough to cover up that badly drawn penis.”

                Castiel laughs as he looks to the ceiling, apparently fairly fond of the memory. “Our father was livid.”

                Anna giggles again before addressing Dean once more. “Our father is very generous and patient, and I can count on _one_ _hand_ how many times he actually raised his voice, but _that night …_ ”

                “He told the sheriff to keep Gabriel in jail until he was sober, and then to add a day for every minute he refused to apologize for his actions.” Castiel’s eyes are smiling and his mouth mirrors.

                “He was in that cell for five days” Anna follows, shaking her head in awe.

                “Thank goodness for our brother’s antics—he certainly took the spotlight off of me.”

                Anna bobs her head enthusiastically before raising her wine glass in the air. “To Gabriel.”

                Castiel laughs louder, raising his glass too. “To Gabriel.”

                Dean awkwardly lifts up his own wine, unsure if it was his place to join this toast—but it might be more weird if he doesn’t. Just like all the other conversation thus far, this one is coming as a shock. It’s the first time he’s seen Castiel talk about his brother without flinching or becoming distant and sad. Maybe it is just the fact that Anna is near him and he knows that he doesn’t need to explain things when she’s around. Dean certainly understands _that_ —he’s always more at ease when Sam’s by his side. They are a team, and Sam will jump in when Dean just can’t handle a situation anymore, and vice versa. Anna and Cas seem to have a very similar dynamic; but that still doesn’t make all this any less odd. Most of what he’s learned of Cas’s family, he learned from Anna in these last twenty minutes—same goes for what he now knows about the guy’s past. Which means he now knows that … Cas was apparently, a bit of a slut—and for whatever reason, that is getting Dean _really_ hot.  He shifts awkwardly in his chair as he lowers his glass to his lips. He’s thankful for the table and the napkin on his lap, as well as for his counterparts’ distraction with their own conversation, because now Dean’s mind is wandering to what Cas must have looked like in high school … and how much of a flirt he had to be in order to get a bunch of jocks to strip for him. Dean was a jock, more or less … so he knows how touchy they can be when it comes to stuff like that.

                The more he sits on it, the more Dean thinks it really was a good thing that Anna and Cas’s dad was so important to the town, because if a guy acted that way in _Lawrence—he’d_ get the shit kicked out of him, quick.

                “So, Dean?” Anna interrupts Dean’s thoughts with her question. “Do you have any siblings?”

                “Oh, yeah … one. A brother—Sam.”

                “Younger or older?”

                “Younger. He’s my baby bro” Dean says proudly—perverse thoughts fading fast with the new topic. _Probably for the best._

“How much younger?” Anna continues on, slicing daintily through her slice of beef.

                “Oh, he’s four years younger. He’s twenty six now.”

                “So you’re thirty? Cas is thirty two … I suppose that’s a good age difference.”

                Dean looks to the other man for a moment—content blue eyes peering back at him. He’s surprised that Cas is older than he is, and he’s sort of embarrassed that he didn’t know that until now. Really, there is quite a lot that he still doesn’t know about the guy—and he thinks he should really change that considering how much sex they’re currently having.

                “So are you two official?” Anna jumps in again.

                And Dean chokes yet again as his eyes blare back at the woman’s query. He creaks his gaze once more to Cas and finds the other man—just as stunned.

                “I mean, _you are_ staying at his house, and I’m assuming that you’ve been intimate, considering your recent visit to the clinic … and since you came back for him—like straight out of some cheesy romantic movie, _I’m curious._ ”

                “We’re … we’re still figuring things out, Anna” Castiel mumbles after another painfully silent moment.

                Dean’s mouth can only hang open as his mind blanks. He blinks between the brother and sister, wondering for the millionth time how they can both leave him so stupefied without even trying. _Figuring it out? Are we? We haven’t really talked about anything … is he hinting that he wants to?_ Dean reaches again for his wine glass and guzzles the rest down in one gulp, all the while, wishing that it was actually whiskey. He needs something harder right now.

                “What’s there to figure out? You’re obviously smitten with each other” Anna chirps, unfazed by her guests’ discomfort.

                Castiel tilts his head at her with curiosity, and Dean is fairly certain that he is silently asking the same question that _he’s_ thinking. _How is it obvious?_

                Anna looks up from her food to Castiel, and then over to Dean—eyes bouncing back and forth rapidly before finally rolling with fervor in her sockets. “ _Oh my god,_ really? You two are _so_ oblivious!”

                “What are you talking about?” Castiel growls again, not looking at all pleased with his sister’s antics.

                Anna just laughs as she reclines against her seat back, appearing suddenly older with her changed posture and sounding as if she’s burdened with all her years of hefty wisdom. “Your little _outburst_ at the bakery?” she directs at her brother, arching one brow with authority.

                Castiel can only shrug.

                “You weren’t defending my honor when you thought that Dean was checking me out … you were obviously _jealous!_ ”

                “I don’t think—”

                Anna whips her focus to Dean and cuts her brother off mid-sentence. “And _you_ … coming to his rescue when I was teasing him? Plus, the fact that you stayed the rest of that day— _after_ you told me the night before that you were going to leave first thing in the morning. People _saw_ you two around town, you know? And poor Mrs. Mason was beside herself after she saw Dean leave with you later.”

                “Maggie Mason does not need to be so involved in my affairs” Castiel gripes, sounding more like a pouty child than anything.

                “You know that that woman is going to involve herself in whatever she wants … _especially_ your affairs.”

                “Yeah—why is that?” Dean butts in, surprising himself with his interjection; but he finally has the opening he’s been waiting for to ask about that crazy, old bitch. He never wanted to offend Cas by bringing her up, because he never really knew how the guy felt about her; but now, it at least seems like she isn’t his _favorite_ person in the world.

                Anna grins at Dean with a bit of shock. “Do you two talk at all?” she asks, swiftly looking back at her brother. Cas busies himself with a dinner roll and doesn’t say a word. The woman slumps her shoulders—apparently disappointed by her sibling leaving Dean in the dark. “Maggie Mason used to be our nanny. She met our parents when our grandfather was still running things. Anyway, she raised us just as much as our parents did— _so_ , she feels very responsible for how we behave and what we choose to do with our lives.”

                Dean nods as he peers back at the man across from him, wondering why Cas never mentioned any of this. It seems harmless enough.

                “When Castiel started high school, he came out to the family—everyone was fine with it except for Mrs. Mason. She is _very_ Catholic, and was certain that my dear, little brother was going to burn in hell. Therefore, every boy he brought home—Mrs. Mason burdened herself with the task of giving them an earful about the wrath of God.”

                “Yes … even to boys whom I was just working on class projects with, or who were fellow mathletes. She was _certain_ I was sleeping with all of them” Castiel cuts in, ruefully.

                “Well, weren’t you?” Anna quips, snickering at the edge of her wine glass.

                “Not _all_ of them” the man grunts, seeming just as pleased with himself as he is annoyed by the turn in conversation.

                “Well, anyway—even though Mrs. Mason went from our nanny, to house keeper, to reoccurring house _guest_ , she always felt it was her place to make sure that Castiel didn’t burst into flames.”

                “That explains a lot” Dean mutters, thinking about how quickly the old woman’s opinion of him soured. The very first night he booked with her, she wasn’t _friendly,_ but she certainly wasn’t crass. The next morning when he extended his stay, she seemed far more unhappy with him, but she at least didn’t voice it. It wasn’t until afterwards—after she apparently _saw_ Dean meet back with Cas out on the sidewalk, that she turned into the Wicked Witch of the Midwest.

                “Apparently she has been less than pleasant with Dean” Castiel adds when Anna gives them both a curious look.

                “That doesn’t surprise me. A blind person could see the way you two were making eyes at each other—so it certainly wouldn’t sneak past Mrs. Mason.”

                “I don’t think we were _making eyes_ , whatever that means” Castiel sighs.

                “ _Please_ … like I said before, it is obvious you two are _smitten_.”

                Castiel grumbles at his sister—both with frustration and with what just _might be_ a bit of doubt.

                The woman puffs up in response, eventually plopping down her cutlery and locking her jaw. “ _Fine_ … let’s settle this then. Dean?” she turns her dark eyes towards Dean, making him tense in ways he wasn’t sure were possible. “ _Are you_ smitten with my brother?”

                Dean feels his throat tighten as he fists his hands across the tabletop. He certainly wasn’t expecting this long strain of uncomfortable dialogue to end up _here._ He feels like he’s been wandering around a mine field this last hour, and he’s managed to not step on any—but now Anna seems to be dead set on pressing his foot directly onto a trigger, and there isn’t much he can do about it. He’s not going to say _no—_ because, _one_ , it’s not true and _two_ , all it would do is hurt Cas; but, should he say yes? They haven’t really talked about what’s going to happen after they get the results back, and he’s not even sure if he’s ready for another relationship just yet—and wouldn’t saying yes imply that he is?

                He’s taking too long to speak; he knows that he is.

                _Talk, damnit!_

“ _Uh_ … yeah. Yeah … I am.” He lets out a stale breath and blinks boldly back to the man across the way, hoping to see something other than unbridled joy—he doesn’t want to build Cas up when he’s not sure if he’s just going to end up letting him down.

                A soft smile and worried blue fills him with relief. “Me too” Cas says, an obvious shake in his voice.

                Dean could collapse and he’s thankful that there’s a seat under him now, or else he just might be on the floor. They _are_ apparently on the same page here—both scared and clueless, but sort of crazy about one another. Strangely enough, it’s _exactly_ where Dean wants to be.

                “ _Good_ … glad we’ve got that settled” Anna groans—as if this all has been a chore for her, and it snaps both the men out of their loving gaze. “Now … who gave who, herpes?”

                “Anna!” her brother yelps, and before Dean knows it, he’s sitting in the midst of yet another epic argument; but—it doesn’t feel nearly as strange as it did just a moment ago.

                Cas said " _me too."_

                _This is a good night._


	17. Games

                He waits until Cas shuts the car door before he says anything. “What’s your middle name?”

                Castiel turns his head slowly and stares at him. “What?”

                “Your middle name—I don’t know it and I want to.” Dean scoots closer to the man, with his arm draped across the back of the seat, barely grazing Castiel’s shoulder. Anna’s dinner opened his eyes to a lot of things: one being that both Anna and Cas get _pretty_ ruthless when they’re arguing with one another, but mostly, that Dean doesn’t know enough about this guy, and it’s mainly because he’s been too scared to ask.

                “Why? Are you planning on stealing my credit card information?” Castiel inquires with a slight smirk.

                “What?” Dean blurts, catching on a second later and laughing out loud. “No! I just … I didn’t even know how old you were, dude. I mean, we’re doing _a lot_ of shit together and I barely know a thing about you.”

                Castiel’s face swiftly sours with a frown as he turns away to look at the side of his sister’s house. “And that bothers you.”

                Dean frowns too because he didn’t mean it _that_ way. “ _Wha_ —no! I just want to get to know you better. I wasn’t lying in there, Cas. I like you a lot and … I _want_ to get to know you better.”

                Slivers of blue peek his way as they shine against the street lamps. “Oh … sorry.”

                Dean smiles softly as he inches in even closer. “Stop apologizing, you dork.” He leans over and kisses beneath the other man’s ear.  “Now, what’s your middle name?”

                “I don’t have one.”

                Dean pulls back again as he scrunches up his nose. “What do you mean _you don’t have one?_ ”

                Castiel only shrugs as he looks through the windshield and down the dark street stretching in front of them. “My parents couldn’t decide on one. Gabriel took my father’s name, and Anna took my mother’s—so they couldn’t figure out what to give _me_. They thought about using my grandparent’s names, but they couldn’t agree on whose to use; so they eventually compromised on not using any of them. I am thankful for it though … I could have been _Castiel Hubert_ or _Castiel Geoffrey_. Neither are very becoming.”

                Dean is holding back a laugh because those would have been awful.

                Castiel apparently catches him though because the next thing Dean knows, he’s being shoved back against the seat. “Oh, you think that’s funny?”

“No … _no_ , I don’t” Dean chuckles, humor slowly moving aside in place of heat as Cas climbs over him.

                “Then why are you laughing?”

                Dean grins wider just as the other man works his knee against his side so he can straddle his body. “I’m _not_ laughing … _Hubert_.”

                Cas growls, dropping down quickly so he can suck a bruise into Dean’s neck.

                If _this_ is how Cas gets even, then Dean imagines he’ll be tipping the scales a lot.

 

                Hands glide over sides and laughs give way to gasps, and soon there’s a generous fog across the Impala’s windows; and the slight squeak from her suspension is filling the air. It’s all delirious and hot, and just a little uncomfortable considering how stuffed they both are, but neither seem to care— that is, until Cas’s phone rings.

                He sits up atop Dean’s lap—his unbuttoned shirt falling open around his chest.

                Dean licks his lips, really wishing he was still tasting the guy’s skin—it’s the perfect dessert.

                The other man fishes his cell phone from his pocket and swipes the screen, seeming annoyed and confused as his flushed cheeks twitch with his words. “Hello, Anna?”

                Dean can hear the woman’s voice on the other end.

                “You two better not be doing what I think you’re doing!”

                Cas’s eyes burst wide as he turns to look out the passenger side window again—ducking down and wiping off some of the steam with his hand.

                Dean tilts up too, and from around Castiel’s body, through the already re-fogging window, he can see Anna’s form staring out of from her house, a hand pressed to her hip and eyes, seeming just as fiery as her hair.

                “ _Oh_ … no, Anna. We were just—”

                “I know _exactly_ what you were _just_ , and I don’t care! You’re not doing it here! I have a neighborhood watch _and_ an HOA! Do you know the kind of crap I’ll get if anyone sees you and your boyfriend’s naked butts? I’ll have to move!”

                “I’m sorry, we’ll go now” Castiel mumbles, already sliding off of Dean and trying to button up his shirt again with his free hand.”

                “Darn right you will! Seriously … I _cannot_ _believe_ —”

                There is sudden silence and Dean watches Cas look at his phone, perplexed—and then they both peer back to Anna standing at her window. She is moving her arms in a flurry and looks as if she’s talking rapidly to herself, judging by the way she’s moving in circles. It’s probably good that she hung up when she did; Dean can’t handle sitting through _another_ bickering session, not when he’s half hard and this exhausted.

                He’s soon sliding out the rest of the way from Cas’s tangled limbs while also straightening his shirt, which had been hiked up during their brief romp. He soon buckles his belt again, unsure when Cas had pulled it open, but he was certainly smooth with it.

                _Damn, he’s good._

                Castiel finally rights himself on his side of the car before giving Dean an apologetic grin. “We should probably head home.”

                Dean smiles in response, feeling altogether nervous and giddy that Cas didn’t say “my house” instead—even though he knows the implication probably wasn’t intentional. “Yeah. Okay. Good idea.”

***

                “Favorite color?”

                “Do you think that that’s really an important factor in getting to know someone? Honestly, how often does one’s favorite color really play into anything? I have never been in any important situation where that question has needed to be asked.”

                Dean grimaces. “These things don’t have to be super important or anything, man—just, stuff that makes you _you._ I said I wanted to get to know you and _that_ includes your favorite color.”

                Castiel halfway rolls his eyes as he fidgets on the couch. “I _still_ think it’s a ridiculous question.”

                Dean laughs as he playfully shoves the other man’s shoulder. “C’mon! Humor me.”

                “Fine …” Cas grumbles, swatting Dean’s hand away with a pout. “It’s white.”

                “White?” Dean teases. “No one’s favorite color is _white_.”

                “Well, I suppose I’m the first.”

                “That _can’t_ be your favorite color.”

                “It is.”

                “You’re lying.”

                Castiel groans and turns to plop his body against the cushions, making the towel behind him bunch against his shirt.

                They are still clothed—not that they had forgotten about the naked rule, but they were too tired and stuffed to wriggle free of the fabric when they came in the front door, so they just fell on the couch instead. Although, as Dean looks at Cas now—he really wishes the man _was_ naked; It would be adorable to see his belly puff out after such an immense dinner.

                Cas groans again as he tilts his head towards the ceiling. “I’m _not_ lying, but I have never really thought about my favorite color before, so now that I _am_ thinking about it—I’m saying white since it is the combination of _all_ color.”

                “No, that’s black” Dean laughs, slumping forward to lean his head against Cas’s arm.

                He gets bucked off quickly. “ _No_. Black is the absence of color. White is the combination of all color, which is why refracted sunlight creates a rainbow.”

                Dean thinks back to the prisms in the museum and vaguely remembers reading something about that on one of the signs there. “Okay, okay … white is your favorite color then. _Nerd_.”

                Cas scoffs but he doesn’t buck Dean away a second time when he leans in again.

                “Okay. You ask me one now” Dean mumbles, wriggling around more and getting more comfortable.

                “This is a childish game.”

                “Don’t care” Dean yawns—a smile strewn across his face as a new weight begins pushing down his eyelids.

                “Fine …” Cas grumbles some more, and Dean can’t help but find the guy’s annoyance, _adorable_. “How old were you when you lost your virginity?”

                Dean’s eyes pop wide again as he twists up to look at Castiel. “ _Jeez_ , dude … you don’t waste any time.”

                The man blushes. “Apologies. It just seemed like we were supposed to ask whatever came to mind.”

                Dean laughs and shakes his head. “Yeah, I mean— _sure_ , I guess. There’s not really any layout to this game; just ask me whatever you’re curious about.”

                Castiel raises his eyebrows at him but stays silent.

                And Dean realizes, _that is_ what Cas is curious about. “I was fifteen” he says after another beat, flinching with just how young that sounds when he says it out loud.

                Yet, Castiel seems to relax and soon, he’s smiling and it makes Dean smile in return. “I was fifteen too.”

                “Really?” Dean asks, happy that he’s not alone.

                “Yes. As my sister all too eagerly informed you, I was rather … _willing_ in high school.”

                He’d be lying if he said that those thoughts haven’t been running around his head ever since Anna blurted them out at dinner. _A teenage Cas, being all flirty and dirty?_ Dean shifts in his spot, trying to will down his dick. He’s too tired to really do anything right now anyway; although, he could probably muscle through it if Cas insisted. “Yeah, well—don’t feel too bad. I was the same way. Only, ya know? With chicks.”

                “ _Hm_ ” Cas hums with a little nod. “Yes, well … when a high school boy sleeps with a lot of _girls_ , it is looked on with pride and admiration. I can’t say the same thing is done when a boy sleeps with many other boys.”

                Dean shrugs, selfishly thinking that _his_ high school experience might have been a lot more fun if he had someone like Cas around, bringing out all his _gay_. He settles back down against Castiel’s side and relaxes with the thought of them meeting up as teens. His mind soon wanders to shower-sex in the locker room and he barely realizes it when Cas begins talking again.

                “It was never my goal to fill my bed post with notches. I suppose … I suppose I didn’t know what else to do at that point.”

                “At what point?” Dean asks groggily, already feeling like he could doze off.

                Castiel stiffens against him and his breath seems to grow heavy in his chest. “After my mom passed.”

                Dean pulls himself upright once more, looking at the side of Castiel’s face as the man just stares across the room to the pictures sitting on the shelves. He obviously knew Cas’s mom had died, but he didn’t realize that the guy had been so young when it happened. Guilt is filling his gut now for finding all of this so sexy only a moment ago. “You were fifteen when she died?”

                Castiel nods.

                “Cas … I’m sorry.” Dean cringes—he said it _again_. Why does he keep saying it?

                “It’s alright, Dean” Cas whispers before taking one, long deep breath and stitching on a smile. “Now, do you want to continue with the questions or should we wash up and go to bed?”

                He _wants_ to ask more questions, he really does. Ever since they got back, he’s been asking about small things, obvious things—like when Cas’s birthday is or if he ever had any pets while growing up.

                  _It’s September 18 th, and he had a water turtle named Rocky_.

                But he didn’t ask about the more _serious_ things. Maybe he just didn’t think of them or maybe he somehow knew that Cas wouldn’t want to share those yet, but sitting here now—he really wishes that he asked earlier. Maybe he would've heard some more answers. “We … we can go to bed if you’re tired.”

                Castiel nods his head in a swift, short bounce and then yanks himself off the couch—pausing just a second as he waits for Dean to stand up too. Once he does, the other man is rounding the side of the couch and walking towards the hall. Dean follows him slowly, watching as Cas zips towards the room as if his clothes are on fire, but really—the only thing in flames are Dean's hopes for this conversation; and the smoldering ashes of his unasked questions are making his eyes water, but Dean doesn’t say another word. Instead, he drags his feet to the bed, worried that it just might be the only layered thing that the two of them will ever share.

***

                It’s noon on Saturday and Cas had suggested that they get out of the house for a bit—he needed to go to the store anyway, and other than eating at Anna’s house the night before, they hadn’t really gone out much since Dean had come over. Not that Dean was complaining, because staying naked at Cas’s place was exciting enough for him; but after last night though, everything has been just a little _off._ Their morning was silent and awkward, and since Cas had said he wanted to get out of the house, Dean had a sneaking suspicion that the guy meant—he wanted to get away from _him_. Although, Cas _had_ asked Dean what he wanted to do while _they_ were running around, so maybe Dean is just reading too much into things.

_Maybe._

                Besides, Cas _does_ have to work a shift at Lew’s later, and if he really wanted to get away from him, he wouldn’t want to hang out around town beforehand, right? Unless, he just wants to make it seem like he’s still okay with Dean … _fuck_. This is driving him crazy. He didn’t _make_ Cas talk about his mom after all, so the guy can’t really blame _him_ for that, can he? Dean of course knows that the subject of "family" is an apparent sore spot, so he’s been pretty careful about saying anything at all if the conversation could lead to the guy's folks. He’s avoided it. He’s done a damn good job avoiding it too; so there’s no way Cas could be angry at him for where their questions-game ended up. Unless … he’s pissed that Dean started the game in the first place.

                _Shit. That’s probably it. He thought I was prying._

                Dean slumps forward with his head in his hands, angry at himself and at the world. Castiel is a sensible guy, but he’s still human—he can still be irrational and weird about things. This will blow over, and if he just gives him some space, then it’ll all be good. Hell, that’s why Dean is out here on this sidewalk bench while Cas wanders around the market. He made up some excuse about wanting to sit in the sun or some bullshit just so he wouldn't risk breathing down Cas's neck too much. The man seemed to buy it though, saying _okay_ shortly afterwards, and assuring him that he would be quick. Dean watched him disappear inside and then moseyed over to this bench, hoping that he wasn’t coming off as distant. This is all really weird and delicate, and he feels like he’s very close to fucking everything up, and he really hates that.

                “Well, you look like a ball of sunshine!”

                Sam’s voice makes Dean nearly have seizure, and he rears back in the bench to peer up at the man as he looms over him. “Sam?” he yelps, scurrying to his feet to greet his little brother.

                “Hey, Dean” Sam laughs, swiftly wrapping his arms around Dean’s shoulders.

                Dean is grinning before he even realizes it,  and he’s hugging Sam back just as fast. “What the hell are ya doin’ here, man?”

                Sam pulls away with a shrug. “I had the weekend off, and Jess said she was sick of my face, so she suggested I come for a visit. I thought about calling first, _but_ I know you—you’d tell me not to come.”

                Dean feigns some insult, but realistically, Sam is right. He _would've_ said that, especially since things are so weird with Cas right now. “Well, how'd ya find me?”

                Sam laughs again but this time, it’s rounded with a scoff. “ _Dude_ , this place is _tiny,_ and your car is pretty easy to spot.” He tosses his thumb over his shoulder towards the Impala parked on the other side of the street.

                Dean looks in that direction, seeing Sam’s car parked right behind it. “Oh, _yeah_ … how ‘bout that.”

                Sam smiles grandly and claps him on the shoulder. “So—how’s it all going? Where’s this guy of yours? I want to meet him!”

                Dean’s own smile falters faintly because he should've seen this coming. Of course Sam is here to meet Cas. Dean has been staying with the guy for a while week so far— and all this bi-stuff is still all new to him, and every time he talks to his little brother, the kid is grilling him for more and more information. Plus, Huntsville is only a little over two hours away from Lawrence—Dean should have _known_ that Sam would swing by to check on him if he kept avoiding his questions.

                _Shit._

And to make matters worse, he sees Cas coming out of the market. There’s no avoiding this now. _Horrible timing_ meets _awkward situations_ in true Winchester-style.

                _Yeah_ … he really should've seen this coming.

                Castiel spots them—and Dean doesn’t miss the confused look on the guy's face with the sight of this very tall man standing in front of Dean. Soon, Cas is gripping his groceries a little tighter to his chest and then begins to walk in their direction—and that’s when Dean does it. He’s not sure _why_ it popped into his head, and it certainly isn’t the smart thing to do, especially not when Cas might already be frustrated with him; and even more so, not when Sam is being all worried about his wellbeing and shit; but Dean is a _smartass_ if nothing else, and damn—if it’s not easy to resort to _that_ when everything else feels so weird and uncomfortable.

                He waits until he knows Cas is within earshot , then he looks up at Sam—who has now been waiting a good, long while for Dean to answer him. So, Dean contorts his face into a disgusted expression and pauses, knowing that the change will cause his little brother some concern.

                “You okay?” Sam asks, putting his hand on Dean’s shoulder once again.

                But Dean swats it away and jumps backwards. “Woah! Dude, I told you already—I’m not giving you my number, so just _back off!_ ”

                “What?” Sam squawks, surprised, but still smiling slightly because he has to figure Dean is up to something—he _does_ know him better than anyone else after all. Yet, Sam can’t manage much of a reaction because Castiel is already on him—groceries dropped and forgotten on the ground so that he could rush up in between this apparent threat, and Dean.  “Woah!” Sam yelps even louder, his smile completely gone by now as he stumbles back from Castiel’s forceful shove.

                “What is going on here?” Cas roars, glaring Sam down, but Dean thinks the question is directed at _him_.

                He stares at the side of Cas’s face—watching the man’s brows bunch in an angry V as his chest heaves in fury; and Dean knows he shouldn’t be, but he’s so turned on by the sight, that if Sam wasn’t watching, he’d drag Cas to the backseat of the Impala and suck him off right here and now.  “I dunno, Cas … this guy just started _flirting_ with me ... he wouldn't go away.”

                Sam’s mouth drops open with the sound of his brother’s words, and Dean almost feels bad for starting this trick … _almost_.

                “Sir, he is obviously _not_ interested in you, so I suggest you be on your way” Castiel grits out—his fists clenching at his sides and his teeth grinding together behind his lips.

                Sam takes another moment to apparently collect himself and assess the situation before huffing and puffing in the way he always does when he’s pissed. “I _hope_ he’s not interested … considering he’s my idiot brother!” he finally yelps, tossing out and accusatory finger in Dean’s direction.

                Dean is laughing again—he can’t stop himself. Even as Cas’s furious blues drag across his face, and even as Sam’s pissy hands find their way to his hips, Dean just keeps on rumbling.

                “ _Dean_?” Cas whispers—sounding like the deadly hiss of a snake.

                “Sorry … sorry!” Dean chokes, bending in the middle to slap his own knees. “But you should’ve seen your face! You looked like you were about to kill him!” Dean busts up some more until his eyes start to water.

                “That _so_ wasn’t funny, Dean!” Sam barks, but that only makes Dean laugh louder.

                “It really _wasn’t_ ” Cas agrees,  and the way he nails in that final syllable sobers Dean right up.

                He clears his throat and straightens out and looks at both the men in front of him—both very different, yet very much the same in this moment of fury. “Sorry’ Dean mutters again, now more seriously.

                Castiel growls at him while narrowing his eyes, and for the first time, Dean thinks that Cas is going to make him pay for something in a not-so-sexy way.

                _Damnit._

                “I’m Sam, by the way—the more polite, _respectable_ Winchester” Sam says suddenly, thrusting out his hand and drawing Cas’s attention back to him.

                Cas smiles apologetically and shakes Sam’s proffered hand. “I don’t doubt that in the least. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sam. I am Castiel.”

                Dean opens his mouth to say something too, but shuts it again when he realizes that he has nothing to add. He’s probably better off anyway.

                Sam smiles and looks around a moment, noticing Cas’s discarded groceries on the pavement just behind them. _“Oh—here_ …” he takes a few steps and bends down to grab at the paper bags, pushing back the onions and half carton of milk that spilled from the inside.

                Castiel bends down to help too, and soon he’s holding the bags again, looking into them to assess the damage. “I had eggs in here, but I’m sure they’re all broken now.”

                “Sorry, Cas” Dean mutters again, ultimately feeling really bad. It was supposed to be funny—he didn’t think it all the way through, though.

                _Typical Winchester._

                “Yes, well … you will buy me more eggs” Cas says shortly, side-eyeing Dean with aggravation.

                Dean nods pathetically and shoves his hands into his pockets—putting himself in timeout for a moment.

                Sam snorts at him and rolls his eyes. “I apologize for my brother, man. He tends to act even dumber than usual when he gets uncomfortable.”

                “ _I’m_ _not_ —”

                Dean is cut off by Castiel, nodding emphatically. “I’ve noticed that.”

                “Yeah. If you think _this_ was bad, you ain’t seen nothin’. One time, he thought it was a smart idea to try and start a food fight at a funeral.”

                “Oh come on! I was just a kid!” Dean complains, shocked that Sam would instantly go to _that_ little gem.

                “You were _sixteen_ , Dean! And if great aunt Ruth wasn’t in a wheelchair, she would have punched you in the nose for hitting her with that strawberry!”

                Dean stammers on his defense, but Castiel’s grin slaps him stupid.

                “Well—I suppose I should be grateful that the only damage here is to the eggs” Cas laughs, hefting the bags higher into his arms.

                Sam nods, smiling before ducking down and taking some of the groceries. “ _Here_ , let me help you with that.”

                “Thank you, Sam. You are very kind.”

                “I told you … _I’m_ the more respectable one.”

                “Yes, too bad you’re married … you’re obviously the better choice.”

                Sam laughs as Castiel takes a step in the direction of the Impala and soon, they’re walking side by side off the curb. “I would be an upgrade, that’s for sure.”

                Dean gawks at them both—wondering for a moment if Sam is _seriously_ stealing his potential boyfriend right now. “Guys! _Hey!_ ” he calls out, soon trotting across the street to nip at their heels.

                But Sam and Castiel ignore all his cries while continuing to laugh and chatter as they pack the groceries into the trunk of the car.


	18. Talks

                “You got a nice place here, Cas.”

                “Thank you, Sam. It isn’t very large but it has everything I need.”

                Sam smiles as he scoots forward on the couch—which is now, thankfully _towel free_.

                Dean had snuck away when Cas and Sam brought in the groceries so he could remove them all from the furniture. He didn’t need Sam asking questions about it—because he probably would.

                “This is bigger than what my wife and I have. Our house is a renovated mother-in-law suite. It’s tiny but the rent  is cheap.”

                Castiel nods from where he sits on the bench in front of the keyboard. Dean is in the armchair off the side of the couch, and between the three of them, the room feels fairly crowded. This house wasn’t made for entertaining—and it doesn’t help when someone like _Sam_ comes in here, taking up the space of two people with all his wandering limbs.

                “I’m hoping that in a year or so, we’ll have saved enough to get something bigger.”

                “Yes, Dean told me you recently got hired at a law firm?”

                Sam grins between Cas and Dean a moment, and Dean can only shrug.

                _Yes, I brag about you … shut up._

                Sam grins wider, somehow reading Dean’s mind. “Yep. I’m just a small fry though.”

                Dean barks out a laugh. “Small?”

                “I _mean_ —I don’t get any real cases, just easy, cut and dry settlements. I’m hoping I’ll be able to move up, but we’ll see.”

                “I’m sure you will, Sam. You seem like a bright young mind, but also fair. People seek that out when they’re looking for council. I think you will be making waves very soon.”

                Sam beams again and then turns his eyes back to Dean. “I can see why you like him” he says with a smirk.

                “Why? Because he compliments _you_?” Dean responds, along with a hefty eye roll.

                “No, but he obviously has a good head on his shoulders. Why he puts up with _you_ —I have no idea, but … I guess everyone has a blind spot.”

                Dean sneers at his younger brother while reaching behind himself to toss Cas’s only decorative pillow at the kid. The pillow has been fairly-well defiled this past week, with all the naked-rules and adventurous exploration, but Dean will keep that dirty little secret to himself, getting some twisted glee with every time he watches Sam squish it between his fingers.

                 “I hope he’s normally better behaved than this” Sam chuckles, turning once more to Castiel.

                The other man only hunches his shoulders, but when he gazes in Dean’s direction, there is a warmth in his eyes that’s been missing since yesterday afternoon.

                It makes everything inside Dean untangle, and he feels like he’s finally able to breathe again. Maybe whatever Cas was going through last night really _didn't_ have anything to do with him. Maybe he was right in thinking that all the guy needed was some time and a little space so he could get his head on straight. It seems that way anyway. And when Cas slowly lifts himself from the bench and moves to Dean’s side—placing a soft hand on the center of his back, it’s the _sigh_ that puts the matter to bed. Dean smiles and leans into the touch, only noticing his little brother a moment later, and the way his eyes are burrowing into them. It makes all his nerves snap taut once more, and Dean is no sooner jumping to his feet, knocking Cas’s fingers free from his body.

                “ _So_ —“ Dean yelps—his voice wavering between a squeak and rumble, “should we get lunch, or …?”

                Sam’s eyes quickly deepen with disappointment, and Dean can feel Cas’s do the same, but he doesn’t turn to look.  He knows that he shouldn’t feel embarrassed about all this; the fact that Cas is a _guy_ certainly isn’t helping anything but Dean knows that that’s not the reason that he’s having a minor freak out right now. And it’s not even the fact that he’s not too keen on public displays of affection, _especially_ in front of Sam—all that is weird and non-preferred, but it’s tolerable. If Dean really had to analyze it, (and he’s certainly getting the chance to with this long, uncomfortable silence) he’d say that he doesn’t want Sam to see him so _at-home_ here. Cas’s place isn’t _his_ home. He doesn’t even really have one right now, but his baby brother is still at a vulnerable point in his life. He's young, about to be a first-time-father and is stressed out as all hell. Dean doesn’t need to make it seem like he’s replacing him; but standing here, Dean feels like he’s _quite literally_ taking sides,  and for anyone looking in through that living room window, it would for all the world look like he is _all-in_ with Castiel.

                But Castiel _isn’t_ his family, Sam is. And Sam needs him still—whether he realizes it or not.

                “C’mon, guys—it’s not a hard question. Do y’all want lunch or not?” Dean asks again, trying to sound more jovial about the whole thing, hoping that the others will simply give in and play along.

                Cas is the first to break—clearing his throat and walking forward. “Yes. Lunch sounds good. It would be nice to eat before I head into work.”

                “Oh, you have to work today?” Sam asks, sounding just as disappointed as he looks.

                Castiel nods with an accompanying frown. “Sadly, I do. I tend to work weekdays; however, with Dean staying with me, I switched to weekends for the time being.”

                Sam hums with understanding, but then his face tilts. “Speaking of which, how long is _the_ _time-being_?” he asks, smiling knowingly towards the elder Winchester.

                Dean reddens and looks desperately to Cas, as if _he_ would have some magical answer to that question; but Cas doesn’t move, and he doesn’t even meet Dean’s eyes even though he has to know that they're on him. _Awesome._ “I thought I’d hang another week. Ya know, figure some things out.”

                “ _Mhm_ ” Sam mutters, and Dean squirms in his gaze.

                Another round of quiet bounces between the three and the room begins to feel even smaller than it ever did before.

                “Yes, well … should we go to Anna’s or would you prefer to eat here?” Cas asks, finally attacking the tension and turning to Dean with his thought, but the question only seems to apply more pressure.

                The idea of seeing Anna and dealing with even more of her wrath after all that he got last night—and doing so in front of Sam no less, sounds like far too much work. “I think I could rummage something up here. How ‘bout it? I saw some steaks in the freezer.”

                _“Oh—you'll_ be cooking?” Castiel asks, impressed while also sounding slightly mocking.

                “ _Yes … I’ll_ be cooking! Why? Didn’t think I could?”

                Castiel smiles but doesn’t say anything else.

                Dean grunts in offense, but he supposes he can’t blame the man. Since he’s been here, Cas has done most of the meal prep—that is, if they didn’t order in. Otherwise, they’d just snack on things here and there. Dean never really took the opportunity to make anything … besides, he was always too busy devouring Cas.

                “Well, _I know_ you can cook …” Sam cuts in, stepping forward and knocking Dean in the shoulder, “but the question is: will it be edible?”

                Dean growls playfully at his baby brother and then lunges, wrapping his arm around the moose’s neck before wrestling him down into a headlock. Sam yelps and swats at Dean’s hands, but he’s not really putting up his usual fight—probably because he’s a guest in this house and wants to be polite.

               Dean has no such concerns.

               He synches in his hold until he has Sam buckling in the middle, yelling out “uncle” as he tries to step on Dean’s foot.

                A low, gritted sound comes rustling past Dean’s ear, and he slows his attack to look up and see Castiel—laughing softly as he watches them, but his eyes look too heavy to match his mouth.

                Dean finally lets his brother go, whispering  “Are you okay?” to Cas before Sam has the chance to right himself.

                Castiel seems surprised by the question and then, a little embarrassed, but nods all the same.

                “You’re such a dick, Dean!” Sam coughs, rubbing at his flushed neck and looking genuinely pissed.

                “You are what you eat, I suppose” Castiel says coolly, gazing lazily around the room.

                Both Dean and Sam’s eyes bust wide as they turn to look at the man—who seems far too pleased with himself now for anyone’s good.

                “Dude!” Dean gasps, already wanting to crawl into his own throat so he can hide.

                But Sam’s wheeze and then eruption of laughter cuts his efforts short. “Oh my god!” Sam barks again before stumbling forward and wrapping Cas in an immensely tight hug. “Oh, I knew I liked you!”

                Castiel grins and stiffly hugs Sam back, all the while—side eyeing Dean with an apologetic glance and once again, that warmth that makes it all worth it.

***

                The steaks were overdone, like how Dean usually makes them. He told himself he wouldn’t get distracted and forget to flip them this time, but then Sam began talking about the Impala and Dean _of course_ needed to correct everything the kid said.  _He always gets shit wrong._ So, the steaks got burnt, but at least Castiel now understands that his baby has a Turbo-Fire V8 with over three hundred horsepower thanks to some of his careful improvements.

               Cas ate all the blackened bits politely, complimenting Dean’s seasoning and whatever else he could between chewy mouthfuls.  Sam of course, wasn’t as tolerant and voiced his concerns throughout the whole meal, along with bringing up all the other times that Dean has burnt their food.

                “There was also the first time that he met my wife. He made steaks then too—but these ones would be considered _rare_ compared to those” Sam laughs while observing a piece of browned meat on the end of his fork.

                Dean rolls his eyes at him and shakes his head. “That was a tactical move. The more you have to chew, the less you talk. I should've cooked _these_ ones longer.”

                “Shut up. If I wasn’t talking, this lunch would be _silent_.”

                “It’d be _enjoyable_ is what it would be.”

                “You’re such a jerk.”

                “Only ‘cuase you’re such a bitch.”

                Dean and Sam smile at one another and Cas slowly smiles too.

                “You two have a very interesting way of expressing affection” the man says once he swallows his last bite of steak.

                Dean shrugs but he’s laughing in spite of it. “Yeah. Learned it from our dad. If he was yellin’, then we knew everything was alright. It was when he got quiet that we knew somethin' was wrong.”

                Sam nods. “Yeah, our dad was a tough son of a bitch. Everyone that met him thought he was a real asshole at first … but, the longer they got to feel him out, the more they'd realize, that’s just how he expressed his joy. If he was cussing you out and making your life a living hell, then that meant you were his best friend.”

                “He and I were always going three rounds at a time” Dean says, full of pride.

                “Yeah, Dad and Dean had a special bond. I took after mom … at least with how I acted around people. Ya know … _normal._ ”

                Dean scoffs. “Hey, if people don’t want to take a chance on me just because I’m a little rough around the edges, then I don’t think I should be wasting my time with ‘em.”

                “That—actually sounds fairly logical’ Cas says with a nod.

                Dean smiles at him—happy that the guy was one of the few who _did_ take a chance.

***

                After they had finished eating, Castiel got ready for work—changing out of his polo and jeans and into his dress pants and light blue button up shirt. Dean had followed him into the bedroom as the man put on his shoes so he could give him a proper goodbye, as well as clear up some things before he left. It was strange, watching Castiel leave after spending practically all day, every day with him for the last seven ... and something about seeing him go is making Dean anxious.

                “This is okay, right?” Dean asks just as Castiel gives himself one more check in the mirror.

                Those blue eyes slit with question as they peer at Dean through the glass. “If Sam stays here for a while? Of course. I’m happy that you two can spend some time together.”

                Dean shakes his head as he snakes his arms around Cas’s waist. “No—I mean, _thanks_ for opening your place to him too, but that’s not what I meant.”

                “What _did_ you mean then?”

                Dean hooks his chin over the other man’s shoulder and shuts his eyes, wanting to cut himself off from the ones searing into him through the mirror. “I know things got weird last night—and, I try not to, _ya know_ , bring up your family because it’s obviously a sore spot. I just don’t want you to think I’m trying to be nosy or whatever. If you wanna talk to me about 'em, then that’s cool; but if you don’t … that’s cool too. I just … I don’t want to mess this up.” The room is quiet for a minute longer and Dean finally opens up again to see the expression on Castiel’s face, because it could be concern or it could be doubt; but he’s happier than he thought he could be when he sees the man’s lips pull back in a smile.

                “I appreciate you not pushing the matter, Dean; and I’m sorry if I made things awkward because of it. Just know, I don’t intend on being this way, but I certainly don’t blame _you_ when I am. In fact, I am very, very grateful that you have stayed throughout all of my … _episodes_.”

                Dean snorts a laugh before kissing Castiel on the jaw. “Dude, _you’re_ putting up with a whole hell of a lot of _my_ shit right now—wouldn’t be fair if I up and ran because you get a little quiet.”

                Castiel grins and then slowly turns in Dean’s arms, wrapping his own around him just about as tightly as he apparently can. “I also can get moody.”

                Dean laughs some more. “Good thing you’re really hot when you’re moody.”

                “Yes, I suppose it is.” Cas leans in and kisses him, with a little more tongue than necessary for a goodbye-kiss. “Now …” he says once he eventually pulls away, “you just need to figure out how to talk about all this with your brother.”

                Dean instantly becomes shifty, looking down at Cas’s chest in order to avoid his eyes. “Caught that, did ya?”

                “I think dead people caught that, Dean.”

                Dean groans before finally peering back up into the blue. “I just don’t know what to say … he’s my little brother and I’ve always been there for him ya know? But now …”

                “You think you _can’t_ be there for him?” Castiel asks, tilting his head so adorably that Dean can’t help but smile.

                “I dunno— _maybe_. I mean, I just don’t know what’s ahead for me … or for … _us_ … and, I just don’t want him to think that I’m leavin' him behind.” Dean sighs but is altogether proud of himself for talking about this— _like this_ , with Castiel. Usually he doesn’t open up so quickly, but just like always with this guy, Cas seems to make those usual worries, turn on their heads.

                “Dean” Cas begins, lifting one hand so he can wrap it around the back of Dean’s neck—keeping him still and unable to look away. “Granted, I am still getting to know you, but something tells me that of all the people on this earth, _Sam_ is the one that you could _never_ leave behind. It is obvious how much you care about him, and he knows it. I think he just really wants you to be happy right now, and I think he’d be upset if you missed out on your own life just because you're worried about his.”

                The words are all too familiar because Sam has said almost the exact same thing to him several dozen times. He knows it’s true and he knows that he’s just getting in his own way more than anything; but when it comes to his baby brother, Dean just can’t seem to turn it off. “Yeah” he finally sighs, because there really isn’t anything else he can say to that.

                Castiel pulls him forward and kisses him again—this time, much more sweetly and without all the grit that usually ends with the two of them getting naked. “I wish I could talk some more, but I _do_ need to get to work.”

                Dean nods against the other man’s forehead and sighs. “Yeah, okay. Go save people.”

                Castiel grins and squeezes Dean even tighter. “I’ll do my best.”

***

                Cas had left for work and Dean ran out to the QuickTrip around the corner to grab a case of beer, and when he got back, he and Sam sat in Castiel’s backyard and drank while watching the sun go down over the wheat. It had been a long time since they had gotten to do something like this, because for the last four years, their mom got sick and died, then of course-- John went nuts. Sam had been in law school or getting married or getting ready for the baby; and Dean had the shop and Lisa, and had too much on his mind at once just to sit back with his kid brother and drink a few cold ones. It’s nice and it just feels right.

                They had been quiet for a while now, because they had caught up on all the basic things and then reminisced some too, and now they were doing what all Winchesters do best—drink in silence. At least, that's what Dean _thought_ they were doing.

                “You’re really happy with this guy, aren’t you?” Sam had said suddenly, and Dean found himself reeling from the question.

                “He’s cool” he blurts back, once his heart starts up again.

                “Cool? What are you, twelve? He’s obviously crazy about you, Dean—and I think you feel the same way about him.”

                Dean puffs dramatically, trying to cover up the thrill that Sam’s words give him.

                But Sam only huffs back, apparently not fooled at all. “Don’t even, man … I haven’t seen you like this in years. You really like this dude.”

                Dean swigs back the rest of his beer, hoping that this whole conversation will just go away once he’s done with it—but it’s _Sam,_ and he should know better by now.

                “I mean, you liked Lisa, _I know,_ but you always had this guard up with her. Like, you were worried she’d break or something if you just acted like yourself; but you don’t seem that way with Cas. You’re just _you_ —a big, dumbass and all.”

                Dean turns to glare at his younger brother and that cocky smirk he’s wearing. “Wow thanks, Sammy.”

                “No problem” Sam laughs, reaching across the small gap between their chairs and nudging Dean in the arm. “So—what are ya gonna do? You gonna ask him out?”

                “ _Now_ who’s twelve?” Dean snips, fidgeting in his chair before reaching down to grab another beer from the bucket of ice he made up.

                “You know what I mean, Dean. Are you going to make things official?”

                Dean cracks off the cap to his next bottle and groans. “I don’t know, dude! This is all kinda new territory for me if you haven’t noticed.”

                “How so?”

                Dean glares back at his brother, hating him a little for making him come out and say it. “ _You know_.”

                Sam shrugs innocently. “Can’t say that I do.”

                “C’mon, Sam! I don’t want to talk about this with you!”

                “Talk about _what_? That he’s _a_ _guy?_ So what, Dean? That doesn’t really change how this all works … I mean, there’s some different _parts_ that you’re not used to but—”

                Dean throws out his hand, silencing Sam instantly. “I am definitely not talking about _that_ with you!”

                Sam throws up his own palms in defense. “Fine, I mean—I’m not looking for all the dirty details here, I’m just saying that just because Castiel is a guy, doesn’t mean that being in a relationship with him has to be some big to-do. If you’re happy with him, then that’s all that matters.”

                “I know that—you don’t think I know that?” Dean barks back.

                “Then what’s the problem?”

                Deans groans again and drinks down the rest of his other beer. “I don’t know what you’re talkin' about.”

                “ _Dean_ ” Sam warns, adopting that tone that makes him sound exactly like their mom. “I know you, and I saw how you acted when we were all in the living room. You got all weird the second he touched you. Was it just because _I_ was there? I mean, you don’t have to be afraid to show affection with him if I’m in the room.”

                “ _Agh!_ Will you just drop it, Sam?”

                “No! I don’t want you to run from this, Dean. If you like this guy, you shouldn’t run just because you’re scared of people knowing it.”

                “I’m _not_ _scared_ ” Dean growls back, now actually getting pissed.  He really didn’t want to get into all this—even though he knows he needs too. Sam just likes getting so touchy–feely about shit and it makes Dean’s whole body itch.

                “You’re scared of something.”

                “Sam …”

                “ _Fine_ , but answer this then—after this week, what're you gonna do? Are you just going to drive off again? Continue your road trip to nowhere?”

                Dean sinks back in his seat, bristles already softening. “I was … I was thinkin’ of coming back to Lawrence.”

                “ _Why?_ ” Sam hisses incredulously.

                “Why not?” Dean squawks in response, because he honestly thought that Sam would be happy with that idea.

                “You didn’t want to be there in the first place, Dean. Why do you want to be there now?”

                Dean shrugs, not wanting to say that he’s homesick—at least, he _was;_ and especially not wanting to say that he’s worried about his little brother.

                “What?” Sam pushes, and Dean knows he’s going to have to give in eventually. “You’re not coming back because of _me_ , are you?”

                _Eventually_ came sooner than he thought it would. Dean stays silent and continues staring out into the distance.

                “ _Dean_ ” Sam bites again, forcing words to finally be spoken.

                “What, Sam? So what? You know … I’m worried about ya, okay? You got all this stuff going on and the baby is gonna be here soon … so … so what if I want to come back and make sure everything goes well?”

                Sam just stares at him like he’s a giant idiot. “And _how_ do you plan on doing that, Dean?”

                “I— _uh_ …”

                “Exactly. You can’t really do anything to make sure that my job works out or that there are no complications with the—” Sam stops himself, apparently not wanting to think about it, and Dean doesn’t blame him. “The point is … you being around won’t change anything.”

                Dean grumbles under his breath, knowing that Sam will only hear part of it, but he kind of wants him to.

                “What was that?” Sam sneers, cocking an eyebrow at his menacing older brother.

                “You’re having the dreams again” Dean garbles louder, instantly regretting saying the words. He wants to put Sam in his place and shut him up, but he doesn’t like making him feel insecure.

                “So what?”

                _That_ response surprises him even more. “So what? You’re having those dreams again, Sam—and it’s kinda obvious _why.”_

                “Oh, is it?”

                “Yeah, man. I mean … _I leave_ and suddenly you’re freaking out? Yeah—that’s a little more than coincidental.”

                “I have _a lot_ to freak out about, Dean.”

                Dean lunges forward in his seat and throws up his arms. “Exactly! So why would I add to that? I don’t need you thinking that your family ran out on you right when you need me the most. I don’t like that I felt like I had to do it in the first place, but … ya know, it usually takes me a while to figure these things out.”

                “Well—take some more time because I’m _not_ worried that you’re abandoning me, Dean.”

                Dean lowers his hands slowly, noticing the foam now filling his bottle from all his waving around. He takes a quick swig to temper it while still looking curiously at Sam.

                Sam sighs and sits himself up so he can turn his chair more to face his older brother. “I know you won’t ever abandon me, man. _Hell—_ ev _en_ when I _want_ to get rid of you, I can’t.”

                Dean chuckles and so does Sam. “So, why …?”

                “Same reason I always have the dreams. I’m worried about _you_ … well, it used to be because I was worried about you or Dad ... and then mom, but now—ya know, mainly you.”

                “Me?” Dean rumbles, wondering if he has really been that far gone lately that Sam would be panicking over him—especially when he has so many other things he should be focusing on.

                “Yeah … _you_.” And now it’s Sam’s turn to look uncomfortable, and Dean’s ears perk because he rarely sees his younger brother like this, and he doesn’t want to miss a word of what he has to say. “Right after the crash, when I crawled over and saw you and Dad all—all bloody and not moving, I realized just how little I could actually do to help you guys. I mean, I know I was young—but I didn’t like feeling so damn useless.”

                Dean’s throat tightens with the thought of little Sammy, crying at the side of the mangled Impala.

                “So, from that day on—I tried to make sure I did everything I could to help you both. I picked up any slack I saw. I mean, I even went to law school so I could hopefully earn a decent enough living someday to take care of everyone. “

                “Sam, you didn’t have to—”

                “I know I didn’t, but I wanted to; but, then mom got sick and dad went crazy, and then it was just you and me. Then—when you lost the shop and Lisa left, I just thought, I wanted … I wanted to do something about it, but I knew that I couldn’t. You weren’t happy and there was nothing I could do about it. It was just like I was on the side of that road again. And now I’m worried I won’t be able to really be there for my kid either, and that terrifies me even more. Like … how am I supposed to know what to do for him? I have no fucking clue what I’m doing here!”

                Dean suddenly feels just as helpless as Sam is describing, because he can’t really say anything to make his baby brother feel better. Just like the guy said before, Dean being around won’t change anything, and him sitting here speechless right now is proof of that. On top of it all, now all his own reasons and excuses are gone. _Shit,_ all this time he thought that Sam had been worried about being left alone, when really—he was worried about being capable. _That_ almost makes Dean laugh because there really has never been a more capable person born to this world than _Sam Winchester_. A soft smile crawls across his lips because now he finally knows what to say. “You’ve been taking care of our family all your life, Sammy. You won’t have any problem with your son and Jess.”

                Sam turns to stare at the ground, still frowning and unsure.

                “Sam—look at me” Dean says, ducking down to catch his brother’s eye. Sam finally looks up, albeit, reluctantly. “Whenever dad was stressed as all hell, _you_ were the one to instantly go and take care of the house and the bills, just so he wouldn’t have to. And when mom was at her wits end with dad, _you_ were the one to make sure she had everything she needed. And … and when I was too busy fighting them both about my own stupid shit, you were the one to talk it all out with me. You have _always_ been there for me, and god only knows where I’d be if I didn’t have you to lean on. So don’t for one second think that you'll be anything less than _amazing_ to that baby of yours. He’s already the fucking luckiest kid in the world if ya ask me.”

                Sam smiles sheepishly as his cheeks tinge, and he shakes his shaggy head with a laugh. “Thanks, Dean.”

                They sit there a few minutes more, listening to one of the neighbors start up his lawnmower, and it’s enough of a racket to ease their nerves, and make the once silent yard, a little less daunting.

                “So … we both need to stop worrying about each other, _huh?”_ Sam says after another minute or two, chuckling around the mouth of his beer.

                Dean smirks. “Yeah, like _that’s_ gonna happen.”                                        

                “Well, at least we know we don’t have to be in the same state to freak out about our brother.”

                And Dean sobers a moment, because he should’ve known Sam would bring this back around to his current situation.

                “Look, Dean—I just want you to know that if you want to stay here and see what happens with you and Cas, then I’m happy for you, a hundred percent. And, if you want to drive off into god knows where, then I’ll support you with that too ... and if you want to come back to _Lawrence—fine;_ but I just don’t want you making these decisions because you think you need to take care of _me._ I meant it when I said that you seem more like your old self when Cas is around, and _that_ in my opinion, is what you should be focusing on.  You said you wanted to take this trip to find yourself or some shit like that, and it seems like _you did_ —right here … with Cas.”

                Dean feels his skin prickle and he doesn’t know how to handle it. “ _Jeez_ , Sam.”

                “Stop it, Dean … stop acting like you don’t know it. You like that guy— _hell,_ you could even love him someday and you don’t need to stop yourself from holding onto that.”

                If he was more mature, and more equipped to deal with these kinds of heart to hearts, he would probably sit here and agree with Sam and tell him that his “blessing” so to speak, means a lot to him; but Dean _isn't_ , and _he’s not_ , so instead, he sloshes the last remaining drips of his beer across his brother’s face before jumping out of his chair and wrestling him to the ground in the grips of another headlock.

                Hopefully—Sam understands, that _this_ is the best way Dean can think of to say “thank you.”


	19. Silver Thunderbird

                He’s clean.

                The phone rang about ten minutes ago with a number he didn’t recognize, so he was hesitant to answer—but as soon as Doctor Sahota identified herself and told him that he was disease-free, Dean has been nothing short of _elated_. He hooted into the phone, quickly apologized for it, and then proceeded to do it again about seven more times.

                When he finally hung up—after he thanked the good doctor over and over, as if she was the condom he wished he had used, he pranced around the house in giant circles—still naked, flaccid dick spinning like the baton in his own, little parade. And now, here he is, pacing back and forth on the best way to share the good news with Cas. The guy is at work, and Dean would just call him, but this doesn’t seem like something he should share over the phone … even though that’s how he found out about it in the first place. Still, it’s too special and Dean wants to make it _more_ special, and that can only be done in person.

                That settles it.

                He’s going to Lew’s.

                A quick shower later, he pulls on the first articles of clothing that he has warn since Sam left last Sunday. Once the moose went back to Lawrence, and once Cas got home, Dean made sure he spent the next five days doing the best _nude-romancing_ he’s ever done in his life … and considering he’s never really done any before, he had nowhere to go but _up._ So he got some groceries delivered to the front step, and then he looked up a recipe for chicken alfredo on his phone—and then he made a _real meal_ for Cas. It turned out pretty damn good too; although, Dean _did_ get some oil burns on his stomach from all the naked cooking; but Castiel soon made it all better … promptly coming on the red spots above Dean’s belly button, which not only soothed the burns, but also for whatever reason, turned Dean on like no other.

                He has problems … _he knows it._

                Anyway, the romantic dinners gave way to sexy massages, and they also took cramped, but steamy baths in the guest bathroom whenever they could. It probably didn’t play very well into Castiel’s money saving plans that the naked-rule originally called for, but he sure didn’t seem to mind.

               Along with all the delicious meals and soapy fun, Dean even came up with a dirty game of eye-spy, that ended with Cas fingering him open for the first time. It was something he’d been nervous about—because when Jonas attempted it during their one drunken night of craziness, Dean found it was far more _pain_ than _pleasure_ ; but he knew that _that whole night_ was more pain than pleasure, so he wanted to give it another chance with Castiel … and he’s so happy that he did. Cas went slow, and he took care of him in ways that Dean has never experienced before. At times—it did hurt a little, but not enough to stop. Not enough for him to not trust that Cas knew what he was doing, or doubt that he knew how to make it all okay … _and he did._

                Dean smiles now just thinking about that night. The way Cas’s fingers felt inside of him and the way the man’s mouth felt around him—and how hard he came after an hour of unrelenting bliss.

                _Fuck_.

                If they can have more nights like _that_ one, Dean knows he would die a very, very happy man.

                Especially since he _won’t_ be dying from some venereal disease.

 

               After what feels like forever, he's finally dressed in some jeans and his worn, Led Zeppelin tee. He’s decent—decent enough for public, anyway, and soon he’s out the door and heading for Lew's. He would drive Baby, but honestly, he’s just got too much energy, and the shop is only a few blocks away … so Dean does what he hasn’t done since high school—he runs.

                He’s quickly out of breath though and kind of regretting not taking the Impala, but the pain in his side doesn’t quell his excitement. After about ten more minutes of running/walking/stopping and gasping, hunched over in a heaving ball—Dean makes it to the auto shop, happy as a pig in shit when he sees the tow truck is still parked out front. It isn’t _until_ he sees it that he realizes he could have run all the way here only to find that Cas was out on a call; but luck is on his side today, and he’s very grateful because that’s not usually where it resides.

                After a moment to collect himself, and to wipe the sweat from his forehead, Dean runs around the back of the shop to the open garage, because Cas had told him that he'd be in there helping out on a build between tows. When he looks inside however—squinting against the bright sun, he can see two figures. One is unmistakably _Castiel—_ De _an_ would know the shape of that man’s body anywhere, but the other is someone he doesn’t recognize. He can only assume it’s one of the mechanics that also works here. Dean tries to contain himself some since strange eyes are now peering his way, but it’s hard as soon as those familiar blue ones turn to him too.

                “Dean? What are you doing here?”

                Dean grins widely as he walks into the shade of the garage, politely nodding and waving at the mechanic who’s still half bent over the open hood of a beautiful looking 1950 F-1 pickup. “I _uh_ … can I talk to you for a moment?”

                 Castiel tilts his head, wondering back at him curiously. “Is something the matter?”

                Dean smiles and lets out an exhausted laugh. “ _Nah_ , man … nothin’ bad. It’ll only take a minute.”

                The concern eases some as Cas nods at him, before turning to the other man in the room. “Jeffery, do you mind if I step outside a moment?”

                The mechanic pulls himself out from under the hood and for the first time, Dean can really get a good look at him. The guy is tall, and actually—pretty damn handsome. He’s got some grease smeared over his arms, and he’s all sweaty, but that only seems to make him hotter.

                _Too hot._

                _Why is Cas working with a hot guy?_

                Something knots in Dean’s stomach and he finds himself taking a quick step in towards Castiel's side, all the while, eyeing Jeff like the dude is about to pounce.

                “No problem, Cassy. Not like you’re doing much here anyway.”

                _Cassy?_ Dean almost growls. _What the fuck is he trying to say?_ He looks back at Cas, expecting him to look offended and on the edge of a blunt, yet witty retort; but instead, his face is full of nothing but lighthearted cheer.

                “You would be lost without me, Jeffery. _Admit it._ As soon as I step outside, that motor you’re working on is going to fall apart.”

                The mechanic smiles a bright, beautiful smile and then scratches the side of his head with the wrench he has clutched in his hand. “You’re right. I barely function unless you’re around. I’m surprised I even got dressed this mornin’ without ya.”

                Dean slides in even closer now. _Fuck this guy._

But Cas is just laughing— he’s laughing in a way that Dean, for whatever reason, thought was only reserved for _him._

                _Fuck this guy!_

The laughing soon stops and Cas clears his throat. “Oh, how rude of me—I haven’t even introduced you yet. Dean, this is Jeffery … Jeffery, this is my friend, Dean.”

                _Friend?_

                Dean doesn’t have long to think about it though, because soon, Jeff is walking towards him, hand outstretched and pretty smile, still painted across his face.

                “Pleasure, man. Cassy says you’ve been stayin’ with him. Must be nice.”

                “ _Uh_ , yeah … sure” Dean mumbles, quickly taking the guy’s hand and shaking it a bit too hard. _Must be nice? What the hell does that mean?_

“Okay, well—we will only be a minute” Cas chimes in, breaking Dean from the staredown and game of muscles he’s currently having with the model mechanic.

                Dean lets go and stands straighter, puffing out his chest like a boastful bird. “Or maybe _longer_.” He can see Cas give him a strange look in his periphery, but he doesn’t care … Dean doesn’t like the way this guy talks to Castiel. And he’s really not fond of how Cas talks back. It’s too close to flirting, and he didn’t think Cas really even knew _how_ to flirt.

                Castiel clears his throat again and then walks between them and on towards the mouth of the garage.

                Dean gets in one last good glare before turning and following him out; but when Jeffery huffs a mocking snort, Dean almost turns right back around to punch him—but he stops himself. That’s not why he’s here; and he can’t imagine Cas would be very happy with him for beating the crap out of his coworker.

                Once outside, they quickly move around to the side of the garage, where the lot bends into a small yard, where they keep extra tires and some of the bigger tools. Dean thinks that _Jeff_ would feel right at home here. He giggles to himself, taking too long to become aware of the grimace on Castiel’s face.

                “ _Uh_ … what?” he asks once he finally sees it.

                “You were very rude in there.”

                Dean shrugs pathetically, not seeing what the problem is. “Well, he was kinda rude to _you_.”

                Cas sighs and then shuffles closer to Dean, looking him up and down with what seems like disappointment as well as a little amusement. “That is just how he jokes, Dean. It took some getting used to, but he’s harmless.”

                Dean scoffs. “Yeah, _sure_.”

                Now Castiel is rubbing up against his chest and running hot breath across Dean’s chin. “I want to be mad, but your jealousy is far too adorable.”

                “I’m _not_ jealous” Dean squeaks, backing up a bit only to have his back hit the garage wall.

                “ _Mm_ , yes—and _I’m_ very, very straight.”

                Now Dean has to laugh too. “ _Fine_ … well, you coulda told me that you were working with a freakin’ GQ model!”

                “Oh, is Jeffery attractive? I haven’t noticed” Castiel hums again in that teasing, rough tone that is both aggravating, and too sexy for anyone’s good.

                “Shut up … he’s _too_ pretty. I don’t like it.” Dean wraps his arms around Cas’s waist and pulls him in tight—wanting to keep him all to himself.

                “He may be pretty—but … unlike me, _he_ _is_ straight. He has quite the eyes for Anna, actually. She wants nothing to do with him though, which I must say—I find endlessly amusing.” Castiel smiles and looks up to the sky, chuckling on thoughts that he’s not going to share.

                “Oh …” That _does_ make Dean feel slightly better, knowing that the guy isn’t into dudes; but Anna _did_ say that Cas has brought out the _gay_ in a lot of people. He certainly brought it out in Dean, so there’s still a chance … “well … I still don’t like it.”

                Castiel rolls his eyes back to him before kissing him on the nose and wrapping his own arms around Dean’s neck. “I’m sorry … but if you haven’t noticed, _you’re_ _also_ an attractive mechanic, and you’re also one that enjoys the company of men, so in my book—you are _far better_ than Jeffery.”

                Dean grows a little with pride. _Damn straight!_ “Promise?”

                Cas smiles and then kisses him softly on the lips. “Of course.”

                It helps, but he’d feel better if he could go bust Jeffery’s nose some and make him just a _touch_ less pretty.

                “So, I am assuming you came here for something _other_ than to see how visually appealing my coworkers are.”

                Dean groans but nods, soon getting excited all over again because he had almost forgotten about the big news. “Yeah … yeah, I did.”

                Cas widens his eyes and perks his ears, waiting for Dean come out with it. “ _Well?_ ”

                Dean grins and squeezes Castiel harder. “I’m clean, man. The doctor called earlier and told me … I’m totally _clean!_ ”

                “That’s wonderful” Castiel says, but his tone isn’t quite the overjoyed burst that Dean was hoping for.

                “Damn right it is! Why aren’t you more excited?”

                Castiel shrugs as he looks to the stack of tires beside them. “I suppose I had a feeling you would be, so it hasn’t been too much of a concern.”

                Dean slumps a little, kind of surprised because Castiel is not the type to work off of _feelings_. He likes seeing the facts laid out in front of him. The other day, he had a feeling that Dean was wrong when quoting a line from "The Godfather" (which he so wasn’t) but he didn’t give up until he watched seven different YouTube clips and looked up excerpts from the actual script on IMDb. So something as serious as _their health_ wasn’t an area that Dean thought Cas would take lightly.

                But Castiel only adjusts his arms across Dean’s shoulders and relaxes into him. “Also, the doctor called me earlier as well and left me a message. I’m clean too—and even though she couldn’t legally say anything about _your_ test results, the tone of her voice was too light to carry the knowledge that you would have a different outcome. I don’t know—like I said, I just had a feeling.”

                Dean deflates. He thought this moment would be a lot bigger, but it’s not, so now he’s not sure of what to do.

                “I’m sorry if my reaction isn’t what you expected. I _am_ very, very happy though. I hope you know that.”

                Dean tilts his eyes back to Cas’s and he can tell that the guy isn’t lying. He can tell a lot of things, and all at once, Dean realizes that all the question marks that have come up between every second they’ve spent together, are gone now.

                They _know_ that they like each other.

                Sam _wants_ Dean to have this.

                Dean _wants_ this … and now, his one, ill-conceived night with Jonas isn’t an issue anymore. Nothing is stopping him, and that realization thrills Dean the most.

                “Go out with me.”

                Cas gathers his brows together and stares into Dean’s eyes. “Go out _where_ with you?”

                Dean laughs. “No—I mean, be my … be my boyfriend.” It sounds cheesy and he feels like he's a child for saying it like that, but it’s what he wants, so it doesn’t really bother him too much.

                Castiel smiles and scrunches up his nose—and it’s so cute, Dean could squeal, but he stops himself just before the joy bubbles from his throat. “I’d love to be your boyfriend, Dean.”

                With a strong push off the wall, Dean is bringing their mouths together in a heat. It’s like he’s been unchained. Cas is _his_. He is Cas’s. This is all he’s ever wanted.

***

                “You said you’d play something for me.”

                “ _Hm?_ ”

                Dean looks over his bare shoulder to where Castiel is sitting on the couch, and he smiles when he sees the man—all naked, sprawled out, comfortable and care free … and _his._ “When I first got here, you said you’d play something for me but you never have.” Dean turns back and peers down at the keyboard in front of him, and the open book of music filled with all of his favorite songs.

                Castiel’s deep laugh rumbles up behind him. “I suppose you’re right, but I assure you, I’m not very good.”

                “Don’t care—still wanna hear ya play” Dean calls, out, reaching to the stand to flip through a few pages of the book; but he jumps when another hand reaches across his own and stops him.

                “Fine, but _I_ choose the song.”

                Dean grins as Castiel presses into his back and kisses the side of his neck. “Deal.” He’s soon scooting to the side of the keyboard to stand and lean against the window frame, watching Cas settle himself onto the bench. Then, those tan, long fingers reach out for the book of music and thumb from page to page—until they finally stop and Dean sees a small, contented smile bloom across Castiel’s face.

                “Ah … _yes_ , this one will do.”

                Dean leans in, feeling himself tingle all over when Cas turns the keyboard on and lets his hands hover over the keys.

                His fingers drop and his foot pumps the pedal at the base of the instrument, and Dean hadn’t thought anything with a pedal could sound as pretty as his baby, but when Castiel hammers out the first few bars of "Silver Thunderbird", he knows that his beloved girl has just met her match.

                Castiel slips his hands like silk over the keys—flitting from white to black like the wind is carrying him. The song soon fills the room and it fills Dean’s chest, and he can hear the words even though no one is singing. He hears _his dad_ singing them—like he always used to when he would drive the Impala down to the lake, or when they would go cross country, just the four of them—when they were all truly happy. It seemed like when they were in that car, listening to songs like this one, were the only times when everyone in his family was at peace. It’s why he loves the open road so much. It’s why he always misses it when he’s not behind the wheel.

                The song carries on— growing louder and louder as it approaches its end, and each note makes Dean’s heart rock against his ribs. He wants that peace again, and he wants to share it with Cas. He breaks when he thinks of how much weight the man still carries, all on his own. There's so much that Dean _still_ doesn’t know about him—if he could just get Castiel _out_. Out of this town. If he could just get him out on the road, he knows he'd feel better. After all, the guy _did_ say the road is freeing.

                Cas’s fingers pull back once the final chords fade into the air, and no sooner is Dean at his side, crowding against him on the bench and turning his head so they can lose themselves in a kiss.

                Dean needs to make this happen … he wasn’t sure of what being in a relationship would mean for them; but now, _he knows_.

                They need to _go_.

                They need to find things, make memories that can just be theirs. No Mrs. Mason to worry about. No Anna to judge. No Huntsville. No Lawrence. Just blacktop and white lines to lead them wherever they want.

                “Let’s go somewhere.”

                Cas was breathing heavy, but his breath halts as soon as Dean says the words. “Go where?”

                “ _Anywhere_. Let’s just drive—you and me” Dean inches in, fingers gliding up and down Cas’s bare back.

                But Castiel doesn’t make a sound.

                “We could go back to the Smithsonian. _Hell_ , we could go to every museum there is! We could just explore—go wherever you wanna go. Just tell me, Cas and I’ll take you there. I _want to_ take you there.”

                Still— _no reply_.

                “I mean—I know you have work, and Anna and your dad …” Dean swallows thickly, because the Wednesdays when Cas leaves him to go visit his mysterious father are always tense, but he knows that there is a reluctance there, and he hopes that Cas is willing to let his responsibilities go for a while, “and I’m not saying it’ll be forever, but … I want to see places with you, Cas. I want drive and sleep in the car and stay in shitty motel rooms … and I want _you_ to be with me.”

                Castiel’s eyes are so full, that Dean can’t even begin to figure out what is going on in the man’s head, but he’s more than relieved when Cas finally speaks. “ _Yes_.”

                Dean grins. “Yeah?”

                Cas still looks shocked, mostly surprised by his own agreement—but he nods again. “Yes. I want to go with you.”

                They're no sooner toppling off the bench, a mess of limbs and fevered kisses—but neither slows down. And between gasps and happy laughs, Cas says it again.

                “I want to go with you, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't listened to "Silver Thunderbird" by Marc Cohn-- here's the link: [ (x)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1-JZFxpuEnw)


	20. Trust

                Castiel is asleep beside him. The windows are cracked and the wind is swirling in and around the seats—making Dean’s hair tickle the lines of his forehead. The strands have grown a bit too long, but Cas says he likes it like that, so Dean is thinking he’ll let it grow out some more. He double checks his reflection in the rearview mirror—a little surprised when he sees himself smiling, because he didn’t even notice that he was doing it. He relaxes his mouth—and his cheeks feel sore. He must’ve been smiling for a while; maybe the last four hours—maybe the last couple days. Who knows? Who cares? Everything is so good right now, he can barely even believe it.

                They’re somewhere outside of Omaha, and are still about seven hours away from the western end of South Dakota. Of all the places in this country they could be heading towards, Cas wants to go to Mount Rushmore. Dean went there when he was a kid and never understood the appeal. They’re just some giant faces carved into rock—you can’t even go up onto them, at least—he didn’t. Instead; he and his family just stood there while Mary took pictures, and then forced all her boys to stand together and take _more_ pictures. Dean tried to line up his finger so it looked like he was picking Thomas Jefferson’s nose … but his mom thwapped him on the head just before he got the chance. Anyway, it wasn’t fun, but for whatever reason—Castiel really wants to see it, and Dean is going to take Cas wherever he wants to go, no question.

                 And no matter where they’re headed, he’s just happy that they’re on their way so soon. He’s actually shocked at how quickly Cas got things wrapped up and settled for their trip. He had only asked the guy to come with him the day before yesterday, and then yesterday, Cas pulled on some clothes and told Dean that he was going to head out and talk with Lew—and by the time he got back, he started packing, telling Dean that they should try to leave early in the morning so they can get to their destination before dark. When Dean asked him how he managed to get everything put together in just one day, Cas told him that Lew was happy to let him go on a much needed vacation. Apparently the old man’s nephew has been looking for work, so Lew figured he could fill in for Cas while he’s gone. As for Anna and the rest of his family—Cas said that he just didn’t give them the option to talk him out of it. Dean wasn’t sure what that meant but he sure as hell wasn’t about to ask.

               

                Dean’s  stomach grumbles, and he considers waking Castiel up to see if he wants something to eat, but just then, the guy’s phone rings and it wakes him up anyway. Cas jostles upright, wiping at his mouth and blinking wildly before he finally comprehends what’s making the noise. Dean chuckles as the man fishes into his pocket, grumbling something to himself about cell phones and how he hates them.  Yet, the humor fades with the look that floods hiss face, and Dean worries more and more each time he turns from the road to look back at Cas, who just keeps staring down at his phone.

                “Everything alright?” Dean asks, trying to side eye the lane and the car in front of them so that he can still watch Castiel.

                Cas hesitates and then nods, mumbling a quick “Yes—fine” before he silences his cell and puts it back into his pocket.

                Dean swallows hard. “Who was that?”

                Cas glances at him quickly and then back out the windshield. “ _Um_ … it was Anna.”

                “Oh …” Dean relaxes some, “why … why didn’t you answer it then?”

                Castiel sighs—hesitating again as he shakes his head. Soon, he’s looking down at his hands as they wring in his lap. “I … I didn’t want to hear her yell at me.”

                Now, the Impala is starting to veer because Dean is looking too much at the person in his passenger seat and too little at the lines rimming the highway. He corrects quickly and tightens his grip on the wheel. “Why would she yell at you?”

                Cas sighs once more. “Because … she probably just read my note.”

                “ _Note_?” Dean blurts, really hoping that what he’s thinking now isn’t true. “Cas—you didn’t tell her you were leaving town in _a note_ , did you?”

                Those stubbled cheeks tinge with a blush as Cas’s nostrils flare—but he doesn’t speak, and his silence is loud and clear.

                “ _Ah_ man, Cas! You _had_ _to_ have known that that wouldn’t go over well with her!” Dean cries, really not wanting to make the guy feel bad, but he also wouldn’t put it past Anna to find them in whatever motel they’re going to be staying at and kill then both in their sleep.

                “I didn’t know how else to tell her, and I knew she would try to talk me out of leaving if I spoke to her directly.” Cas squirms in his seat before turning to stare out the passenger side window, seeming determined not to meet Dean’s eyes.

                “Yeah _but_ …” Dean pauses, trying to think of how to phrase his words, because the last thing he needs to do is insult his brand new boyfriend, “you know she’s going to think I _made you_ do this, right? Like … I wanted you to come with me, but she’s going to think I’m kidnapping you or somethin’, and … I really don’t want your sister to hate me.”

                Cas’s shoulders slump but he stays turned away. “I made it clear in the note that this was _my_ decision.”

                Dean automatically rolls his eyes, instantly thankful that Cas isn’t looking at him. “Do you really think she’s gonna buy that?”

                The other man seems to sink even further into the leather. “Perhaps not.”

                “You need to call her, man. You need to explain this … I really don’t want to come between you and your family. That’s the last thing I want, actually.”

                Castiel makes a displeased sound but finally begins to turn back to Dean, slowly and with pause, but eventually their eyes do connect. “I don’t want her to convince me to go back.”

                Dean’s heart both fills and breaks— still amazed that Cas really _does_ want to be out here with him, but also hurting that that decision is causing him pain. “Cas …” Dean sighs before pressing his foot slowly onto the brake and twisting the wheel so Baby can pull off the road. They come to a dust-filled stop just behind the sign saying “Fifteen Miles to Omaha” and they listen to the engine sigh when Dean finally shuts it off. “I wanted to go on this trip with you because I wanted it to be easy … _fun_. Ever since we met, there’s always been something that one of us was freaking out about, so I thought—I thought we could celebrate moving past all that by getting away for a while. But if getting away means that your life at home starts to fall apart, then I don’t want you to leave. We can head back right now—flip this old girl around and haul ass back to Huntsville. If it means that you’re happy, then that’s what we’re gonna do.”

                Cas’s chest is heaving and his jaw is clenched—his eyes are trained on the floor of the Impala as if he’s about ready to fight it. “No—I don’t want that. I want to go on this trip with you, Dean. We’re going … Anna … Anna will just have to find a way to manage in my absence.”

                Dean opens his mouth to respond but that’s when Cas starts pulling out his phone again.

                “Excuse me—hopefully, this will only take a moment.” Castiel pops open the door and Dean can hear the phone ringing on the man’s cell just as he steps out of the car. Soon, the cell is up to his ear, and when Castiel shuts the door again, Dean can hear his voice, muffled against the metal but still fairly clear. “Anna?”

                Dean peeks out through the window as Castiel begins to pace in the dirt, listening to his sister who is probably screaming at him for just taking off.

                “No … I chose to leave.” Cas sounds agitated, but calm. “It was _my_ choice— _no_ , he is not brainwashing me! How could you think such a thing?” His voice seems less calm now. “I don’t know.” Cas turns to face the distance—his back to the car and his words, shooting out to the horizon so Dean can barely hear them. “I need this … I know.” The man’s head bows and his free hand pulls up to rub the back of his neck. “I … I left a note for him too.” Cas looks over his shoulder and Dean quickly looks away, trying to pretend that he’s _not_ straining to hear every second of their conversation. Castiel eventually faces forward again, lowering his voice to nearly a whisper, and Dean can only catch a few words here and there. “I hope … okay … he doesn’t … it won’t matter …” The blue skies all at once seem to darken as the bones in Castiel’s back, spike. “It’s not as if he actually cares, Anna!” Cas yells angrily, relaxing again a second later—letting out a low, deep groan. “ _I’m sorry_. I just … it’s been years and I just need to _go_. Please, understand.”

                Dean feels like every breath he will ever take again hinges on Anna’s next words, and he wishes for all the world that he could _hear_ them.

                Castiel is motionless, apparently feeling the same way—dangling on everything that his sister is saying on the other end of that line.

                It seems like it’s hours before Dean finally sees the other man react.

                “ _Thank you_ … I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about this before.” All of Castiel’s edges appear to smooth out as he back-steps towards the car. He’s soon muttering his final thoughts to his sister while his hand hovers on the handle of the door. “I love you too. Thank you, Anna. I’ll call you soon … goodbye.”

                When Cas slides back into the car, Dean feels horribly awkward, because he knows that _Cas_ knows that he was listening, yet he feels like he should pretend like he wasn’t; but then again, he really wants to know exactly what Anna said. Dean opens his mouth to try and say “how'd it go” but Castiel cuts him off, speaking first and putting Dean out of his misery.

                “We have her blessing.”

                Dean feels as if he snapped in half with the release of all his tension. “Yeah?”

                Cas smiles, nodding but still looking sad beneath it all. “Yes … I should have spoken to her before. I feel guilty.”

                Dean sighs and decides to glide down the seat and wrap his arm around the other man—they’re together now. It’s okay to do that sort of thing. “Well, you _talked_ to her, and she’s good—so that’s all that matters.”

                Castiel nods before laying his head on Dean’s shoulder. “Thank you for pushing me to call her.”

                Dean chuckles and plants a kiss onto the top of Castiel’s head. “ _Eh_ , that was actually for _me_ —I just didn’t want her hunting my ass down.”

                Castiel chuckles too and is soon pushing in closer to Dean’s chest. “She probably would”

                “Yeah …” Dean laughs—his thoughts jumping from Anna, to Mrs. Mason … the other woman  who probably wants Dean’s head on a spike. “Hey … why do you surround yourself with such angry chicks? It’s probably gonna get me killed one of these days.”

                The other man pulls away, twisting in his seat and staring at Dean with a smile. “Yes … well, I didn’t choose to surround myself with them, but since that is the nature of my life, I better have as much fun with you as I can before one of them comes and rips you apart.”

                Dean scoffs but he can’t stop himself from laughing some more. “Gee— _thanks_ , buddy.”

                Castiel shrugs … obviously not too concerned about Dean’s impending death sentence. “What can I say? Strong women will end us all.”

                Dean thinks back to his mom—the strongest woman he has ever known, and all the times she probably came close to throttling his neck. “Yeah …” he sighs, wishing that she could still have the chance.

                “We should get back on the road” Cas says after another moment, patting Dean on the thigh and nodding towards the highway that's stretching out in front of them.

                “Yeah, okay …” Dean breathes, sliding behind the wheel once again before he stops himself, mind flashing to the other parts of Castiel’s conversation with his sister—something still stabbing at the back of his mind and making his light dim with concern, “but—is everything else okay? Is there anyone else you need to call?”

                Castiel’s eyes dull as unknown words pulls the corners of his mouth towards the floor—but he shakes his head. “No. I think everything is settled now.”

                The worry only continues to blanket everything, staining Dean’s skin like ink. “Cas …”

                “Dean—I promise. Anna is taking care of things for me. She always did want me to get out of that town ... maybe not exactly in this manner, but she's happy and willing to help. It’s all alright now.”

                Dean sighs, but nods—hoping that the weight he’s feeling is just residual. “Alright.”

                Castiel smiles before reaching out and squeezing Dean’s knee—punctuating the discussion and bringing it to a close.

                Soon, the engine is roaring and they’re pulling back onto the highway and onto their destination. The wind swirls in again and begins to sweep out the thoughts of the last fifteen minutes. The next thing Dean knows, Cas is humming softly—tapping his fingers on the sill of the window to a song that’s apparently playing in his head. The white lines create their runway and the Impala’s wings stretch out wide and soon, Dean’s cares are soaring away—because this is the freedom he was hoping for. This is the feeling he wanted to share with Castiel.

***

                They stopped at a steakhouse on the other end of Omaha and for what seems like the millionth time, Dean was impressed with just how much Cas could eat. Not only did he put away his entire sixteen ounces of prime rib, he also finished off their potato skin appetizer and Dean’s remaining french fries too.

                He stupidly asked Cas where he put it all, but the guy just smirked and said he was gifted with good genetics.

                _Ain’t that the truth?_

Once they were finished and Dean paid—an argument he actually managed to win this time, they went down the road some to fill the Impala up before they continued on their journey; but while they were standing at the pump—Dean, leaned up against his baby, protecting her like always, and Cas … thumbing through a travel guide he just picked up inside the station’s shop, Dean felt himself becoming overwhelmed with the moment. He began to feel it in the car, but something about _this_ seemed far more intimate now. He can’t even be sure as to why, but Cas just seems so comfortable getting lost in his own thoughts with Dean by his side, as if he doesn’t worry one bit about anything while Dean is around. There are no walls up. No one has to be on guard. Right here, in this moment, both of them are so obviously at ease that Dean can barely contain himself. He wants to say something. He wants to tell Cas exactly how he feels … how happy he is, how much the guy means to him … and there’s only one way to convey that that he can think of.

                “Cas?”

                Castiel looks up from his guide, blue eyes—relaxed and curious. “ _Hm_?”

                “Do you want to drive?”

                Castiel lowers the book a little more and then looks towards the driver’s side of the Impala. “I can, if _you_ don’t want to anymore. Are you tired?”

                Dean laughs and shakes his head, because the guy obviously isn’t getting this. “No—I’m fine, but I just thought you might like to drive her.”

                Castiel looks at the Impala’s driver’s side again and shrugs before looking back down at his book of apparently _more_ exciting things to do than drive Dean’s most adored and beloved possession. “Sure. That would be fine.”

                Dean sags in the uneventful moment. “Cas … you’re killin’ me.”

                Castiel pulls his head from the pages once more. “How so?”

                Dean quickly locks the nozzle’s trigger so it can keep pumping gas, leaving his hands free and _him_ free to stand a bit straighter. “I don’t even like _Sam_ driving her.”

                “ _Okay_ …” Castiel squints at him and tilts his head.

                “But … I’m asking _you_ to drive her.”

                The other man only tilts further.

                Dean groans. “The only person who I’d ever really _trust_ to drive her was my dad!”

                “Yes … you’ve told me that.”

                Dean throws his hands up in the air and shuffles in place, frustrated that his boyfriend is obviously a skilled, romance assassin. “I’m sayin’ I _trust_ you, Cas! I trust you with her!”

                Castiel’s eyes nearly disappear beneath the creases of his brow, until they all at once burst and his mouth falls open. “Oh …”

                Dean's head rolls back and he peers at the top of the pumps. _Finally!_ “But if you don’t want to, then—”

                Castiel has Dean pulled around to the side of the car and pushed up against the painted metal before he can even finish his thought. A tongue is no sooner filling Dean’s mouth and a wandering hand finds its way to the button of his jeans. He’s stunned and looking from left to right and all around the best he can, praying that he doesn’t see any cars passing them along the highway paralleling the gas station. And he secretly sells his soul so that whoever is manning the register inside, has an obstructed view thanks to the Impala; because there’s no way Dean is going to be stopping Cas right now, but he really doesn’t want to be someone’s side-show either.

                The other man moans into his mouth as his fingers slide beneath all of Dean’s clothes to gather his cock in his hand. Soon, a tight grip is stroking him up and down and sending lightening shocks all throughout his body. His muscles instantly start giving way, but Castiel keeps him upright, almost seeming like he’s grown extra limbs just to hold Dean together. The outside world quickly loses all his interest and Dean shuts his eyes, letting himself collapse completely between the car and the other man; and that's when Cas finally breaks their kiss and nudges Dean’s head to lie onto his shoulder. Dean feels his toes tingle as he continues to be cared for. The strokes speed up and each pass pulls louder and louder gasps past Dean’s lips—which turn into moans when Castiel begins to whisper in his ear.

                “This is what I fantasized about when I first saw you on the side of that road.  I wanted to push you against this car and make you fall apart in my hands …”

                Cas’s breath is hot on his ear and it’s making his skin prickle so hard, it almost hurts.

                “I didn’t think I’d get the chance to do this, but _here you are_ —trusting me, and I’m so grateful, Dean.”

                The way Cas says his name is both gentle and filthy, and Dean doesn’t know whether he should melt some more or grit his teeth.

                “What did I—” Castiel pulls Dean’s hips into his own and climbs across Dean’s body like ivy, tangling him up and making him beautiful “what did I ever do to deserve you?”

                The question aligns itself with the man's last upwards twist, making Dean’s spine snap, and he buckles in the middle, molding  around Castiel and holding on for dear life—feeling as if everything inside him, every nerve and bit of bone, is wanting to rush directly into the man’s fist. And Cas just hugs him closer through it all—through every high and shuttering low, until Dean thinks he’s nothing but blood and skin, dripping into a puddle at their feet.

                The gas pump clicks and the sounds brings them both back into the world—making Cas step backwards after ensuring Dean is properly supported on the side of the car. With a smile, he turns and grabs some of the paper towels from the dispenser on the side of the pump and wipes off his hand; then he walks around to where the nozzle is still inserted into the car and pulls it free, shaking out the last drips into the tank. Once its out, he replaces it back onto the hook and walks once more to Dean’s side, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the Impala’s keys.

                Those blue eyes sparkle as he dangles them in front of Dean’s face, teeth bearing down in a grin and around Dean’s heart.

                “You should probably get in and buckle up …” he says, stepping forward so he can refasten the button on Dean’s jeans, “I like to go fast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that last scene is actually the thing that inspired me to write this fic. I was driving on a long stretch of dusty highway-- not wanting to think about my life, so naturally, I turned to thoughts of Destiel. I saw a lonely gas station on the side of the road and just imagined Cas pressing Dean up against the side of the Impala while they were pumping gas. It was such a lovely image, I knew I wanted to write a story about it ... which was just going to be a one shot at first.
> 
> Then ... it turned into this.
> 
> Which, let me just say-- I originally thought this was going to be a short chapter fic, and I said that I didn't want it to be as long as "The Plot" but now it's longer than "The Plot" and it very well may turn into twice its size.
> 
> Ugh.
> 
> Why do I do this to myself?
> 
> Anyway, hope you all enjoy it to the end.


	21. Red

                Castiel slows down as they drive up the busy road. “Where should we stop?”

                Dean can only stare straight ahead—eyes still wide and unblinking, nails—still digging into the black leather of the dash.

                “There's a Red Robin over there … I’ve heard they have decent burgers, although I have never eaten at one myself. _Oh_ , there’s a Red Lobster on the corner … why are all these restaurants focused around the word _red_? Look! The Red Onion! Now I was just being facetious but this is getting to be too much!” Cas chuckles dryly as he comes to a stop at a red light. “Well, I suppose _red_ is just as delicious a color as any.  Where would you like to eat?” He taps the steering wheel lightly before finally noticing the silence in the car. “Dean?”

                Dean feels the man’s eyes on him but he can’t turn. His body is locked this way—it has been for the last eighty miles—the last eighty miles that should’ve taken at least an hour and a half to travel, not forty five minutes.

                Cas lightly nudges his arm. “Dean? Are you alright?”

                “Brakes.”

                “Pardon?”

                “They’re called brakes, Cas! Ever heard of ‘em?” Dean yelps—voice ragged and wrecked from all the terror that had been gripping it.

                “Is that a restaurant? That is a horrible name if it is.”

                At long last, Dean is finally able to turn and look at the guy because he _has_ to know. He _has_ to know that he’d been driving like a mad man! “On the car, dude! You didn’t hit the brakes _once!_ ”

                The light turns green and Cas hesitantly begins to drive again. “That’s not true. How do you think I stopped the car just now? Sheer force of will?”

                Dean groans and throws up his hands, clamoring on what else he can possibly say. “On the—on the fuckin’ freeway! You were pushin’ a hundred the entire time! You passed _three_ semi-trucks in one go!”

                “They were very slow trucks, Dean” Cas says calmly, tilting up his chin as he turns into a parking lot of yet another restaurant with a crimson name.

                Dean shakes furiously, but waits until they’re parked to continue. He needs to settle down. He _did_ tell Cas he could drive after all, and Cas _did_ tell him that he likes to go fast … but Dean thought that was an exaggeration. The guy was barely moving when he manned that tow truck of his.

                The Impala is parked and quickly shut off, and soon—calm blue eyes are meeting frantic greens.

                “Cas … buddy …” Dean breathes in deep, attempting to pick his words carefully, “are you completely out of your mind, or did me handing you the keys just make you stroke out or somethin’?”

  
                Castiel puffs up his chest, causing his nostrils to flare—but everything else stays the same … and it makes him look terrifying.

                Dean feels himself cowering instantly.

                “I gave you fair warning, didn’t I?” Cas says—his tone, soft and deep, which somehow makes it even scarier.

                Dean nods as he breathily mutters, “yeah.”

                “And did you ask me to slow down at all in the last hour?”

                “Well … I …” Dean wants to say he couldn’t because he was too busy trying not to throw up.

                “Do you think I wouldn’t have slowed down if you just simply asked me to?”

                “Well, _no_ —I mean, _yeah_ , but …”

                “Then, if you had a problem with my driving, why didn’t you simply tell me so?”

                “The tow truck!” is all Dean can manage to squawk, and he immediately blushes and internally kicks himself, because he could’ve sworn he had the upper hand in all this just a minute ago.

                Castiel tilts his head and squints at him, eventually letting out a short hum of understanding. “ _Ah_ —so, you thought that I would drive _this_ vehicle the way that I drive my work vehicle. Is that why you let me take the keys?”

                Dean shrugs, feeling ashamed of himself and not sure why. That _was_ his only experience with seeing Cas drive before, so isn’t it fair to judge his driving capabilities based on that one experience?

                “That is my job, Dean. I drive a truck that belongs to my boss, and I made him a promise to uphold a certain decorum when behind the wheel. If I drove that truck carelessly, then I would be disrespecting his property.”

                “Baby is _my_ property” Dean mutters miserably, staring down at his own knees like a scolded child.

                “That is true, however—I don’t work for you. We are in a relationship, and the last time I checked, relationships aren’t formal. There are no contracts, no documentation to solidify certain ways to act and present oneself. _You_ said you trusted me and I took that seriously. And if you said you wanted me to slow down or drive like I do at work, I would have done that too … but you did not say a word, so I thought I had a bit of freedom here. I never get to drive cars like this and I admit, I was excited to get the chance. I however, did not realize it would come with so many stipulations so I promise you, I will not be driving it again.” Castiel lifts up his arm and dangles the keys in the air for Dean to take. “I apologize if I took you by surprise. I’ll try to be more predictable and mundane from now on.”

                Dean gawks and then rolls his eyes because now, Cas is just being ridiculous. “Oh c’mon, man! Would ya jump off your high horse and look at it from _my_ side for one second?”

                Castiel drops his arm again, seeming slightly surprised by Dean’s response. “Which is?”

                “You _know_ how much I love this car—she’s my girl, so you had to have known I’d be hesitant letting you drive her.”

                “But you said you trusted me.”

                “I do! But it doesn’t mean I won’t still be freaking out a little.”

                “And you expect me to know that?”

                Dean groans again. “I expected you to at least pretend to obey the speed limit! I expected you to _not_ play chicken with every oncoming car on the freeway!”

                Cas shifts in his seat, looking flustered and cornered. “Now that’s just not—”

                “I expected you to know how hard it is for me to hand over control like that … I mean, I know this is all still new to us, man—but we _have_ spent the last two weeks together … every day. _All day_. You can’t tell me that you haven’t noticed that I’m just _a bit_ of a control freak?”

                Castiel sighs but eventually nods, looking slightly ashamed but still stiff overall. “I … I suppose I _did_ get slightly carried away.”

                “You raced a minivan full of kids … a freakin’ soccer mom was driving!”

                Cas huffs a laugh and Dean can’t help but laugh too. “I’m sorry. I suppose I was just excited that you trusted me with your car, and … I … I wanted to impress you.”

                Dean laughs louder. “By almost killing us?”

                The other man shakes his head. “By driving like I’m not an eighty year old man.”

                “Well, you certainly didn’t drive like that … you drive the tow truck like that, but not my baby” Dean sighs, letting his head rest against the cool framing of the window.

                “I drive the tow truck like that because, if I wreck it, I can’t make Lew forgive me by simply sucking on his penis.”

                Dean barks out another laugh. “I mean, _you could_ _try_ but I don’t think he’d appreciate it like I would.”

                Castiel smiles and is soon arching over the seat between them,  giving Dean a long, hungry kiss—and every last bit of tension seems to drip away. “Well, how about we go inside and eat … and then I can work on earning your forgiveness.”

                Dean grins against Cas’s lips before giving a soft nod, happy that with the last hour of terror, this is how it all came to a close. “Remind me to let you drive more often.”

***

                Castiel drove the rest of the way to South Dakota, but it wasn’t nearly as death-defying as the first leg of the trip. Dean’s nerves settled only thirty minutes after they got back onto the road, and soon—he felt so at ease that he actually dozed off a time or two. With the windows cracked and the radio playing over the rush of the air rushing through his hair, he felt like he was a kid again, with nothing more to worry about than when they’d get to where they’re going.

***

                “Will you hold still?”

                “I want it to line up right!”

                Castiel grimaces from behind the disposable camera that they picked up at the gift shop. “It is easier for _me_ to do the aligning and for _you_ to hold still!”

                Dean grumbles but stops fidgeting—keeping his index finger motionless in the air.

                Castiel snaps several pictures before finally lowering the camera. “Alright, I think I got it.”

                Dean grins happily. “Awesome!”

                “Why you felt the need to get _that_ shot, I have no clue.”

                Dean jogs back to the other man’s side and claps him on the shoulder. “Let’s just call it: _unfinished business._ ”

                “How is picking the nose of one of our elite leaders, unfinished business?”

                With a laugh, Dean kisses Cas on the cheek. “Don’t worry about it, babe.”

                Cas blushes and begins to fidget with one of the two settings on the camera. “ _Babe_?”

                Dean blushes too. “Yeah, well … thought I’d give it a try.”

                “Oh …” Cas smiles, wide and bright until the corners of his eyes are crinkling.

                Dean lets his hand slip to the small of the other man’s back and pulls him closer, feeling overwhelmingly happy in this moment. “So, what else do you wanna do?”

                Cas peeks back at him—still grinning and looking just as pleased. “I want a picture of the two of us.”

                Before he can say anything in response, Cas is looking around excitedly, finally rushing away as a woman walks past them.

                “Ma’am … ma’am would you mind?” he says, holding out the camera to her.

                The lady turns and smiles politely at him, but nervously touches her perfectly quaffed hair—as if she’s worried that Cas is secretly planning on mugging her. “Oh—well …”

                “Just one photo, ma’am—if you would be so kind?”

                Dean chuckles because the second the woman focuses in on Castiel’s gorgeous blue eyes, she’s helpless.

                _Been there._

                “Well, I suppose I do have _a moment_.” The woman takes the camera and lifts it to her face to focus in on Castiel, who is back stepping to get beside Dean again.

                After he adjusts a little, he wraps his arm around Dean’s waist and smiles proudly back in the woman’s direction.

                Dean shakes his head humorously, because it’s just so cute how happy his boyfriend is right now, and he can’t help but love to see it. Soon, he’s wrapping his own arm around Cas’s waist as well, and then he leans his head against his and squeezes him close.

                The woman seems to freeze, briefly lowering the camera, a frown curving the ends of her lips. She quickly lifts it back up again and snaps the picture—stomping towards them even more quickly and practically throwing the thing back into Castiel’s hands.

                “ _Uh_ —thank you” Cas says, looking slightly shocked by the woman’s sudden shift.

                She just narrows her eyes and gives him a curt nod, soon turning on her heels and marching away, and before either Dean or Cas can look at each other in confusion—a very clear and angry “faggots” rings out through the air.

                “What the fuck did she say?” Dean hisses, already taking a step to chase the woman down—every intention of stopping her again and giving her a peace of his mind.

                “ _Dean_ …”

                “No! Where does she get off? We asked her to take our picture, not film our sex tape!”

                Cas’s phone rings suddenly and he sighs—pulling it out and silencing it immediately so he can focus yet again on Dean. “People like that don’t care about the level of intimacy, just the fact that there is _any intimacy_ is enough for them to pass judgement.”

                “I don’t care! She’s still a bitch!” Dean is irate—not only because of the woman’s bigoted, narrow minded rudeness, but that she could so quickly ruin this for him. He was so damn happy just a second ago.

                “Dean” Cas says again, shoving his phone back into his pocket while seamlessly pulling Dean’s heated glare back to him.

                “What?” Dean growls, really wishing Cas was just as upset as he is.

                The other man simply smiles and then leans forward, kissing him sweetly while simultaneously making him forget all about that awful woman, or that there are other people like her existing in the world.

                Dean relaxes against Cas’s lips, and soon, his fingers are synching around the man’s belt loops and pulling him closer.

                Castiel chuckles and it makes his whole body rumble pleasantly. “Now …” he says, finally pulling back and looking happily into Dean’s eyes. “Would you still rather go and yell at her, or get back at her by doing more of _this_?”

                Dean grins wickedly, looking up a second later to see a slew of new eyes on them—some, looking just as displeased as the WASP who took their picture … some, seeming just as giddy as he is now. “Well … _this_ probably would piss her off more.”

                Cas nods and then kisses him again. “You know what else would make her mad?”

                Dean shrugs, hugging Cas tighter to his chest, never wanting to let him go.

                “If we take a photo that looks like we’re licking George Washington’s face.”

                Dean throws back his head, laughing hard and forgetting completely that he was ever angry in the first place. “Yes! Let’s do it!”

                The two men scramble excitedly, getting themselves into position.

                “Dean! Hold still!”

                “Just take the picture!”

***

                They found a nice motel about thirty miles away from the park. It was very clean and very well maintained—Dean was actually impressed. It’s not often that you find such quality for such a price. The room in New York was decent, but Dean would have never called it "nice", but this place is. It felt so fresh in fact, that he didn’t even have a problem with lying down directly on top of the comforter.

                “This is nice” Cas says, looking around the fairly large room. “I was not expecting it to be so well kept up.”

                “Me either. These places are usually dumps … guess you’re my lucky charm.” Dean rocks up off the bed once more and wanders over to Castiel, pulling him close and kissing him all up his neck—having the sudden urge to dirty this pristine room.

                “I doubt my being with you correlates at all to the room’s quality—either directly _or_ indirectly.”

                “The world works in mysterious ways” Dean whispers, soon letting his tongue flick at the edge of Cas’s ear.

                “Not _that_ mysterious.”  Cas’s words are stern, but there’s a tremble in his voice that’s making Dean’s knees go weak.

                But, the sudden ringing of Castiel’s phone stiffens them right back up.

                “Again? _Dude_ … that’s like the tenth time!” Dean grumbles, angry that a cellphone is cock-blocking him right now.

                Cas seems just as displeased, fishing the thing out of his pants so he can silence it. “Apologies … now, where were we?” The man slips his hands into Dean’s back pockets and yanks their bodies together, but Dean finds himself resisting.

                “Don’t you think you should answer whoever is calling you? It might be important.”

                Cas’s arms droop and he steps back, looking down towards their feet. “It’s not. It’s fine.”

                “Doesn’t _seem_ fine. They’re calling a lot, man.”

                “I know that!” Cas barks in return, snapping his gaze up again with a fury.

                “ _Woah_ … okay, sorry!” Dean huffs, raising his hands in surrender. “I just thought … never mind, it doesn’t matter what I thought. It’s _your_ phone, do what you want.”

                Cas moves away even further and nods, looking just as angry, but also a little guilty and … _something else._ “I’m sorry, Dean. I think I’m just tired.” The man rubs the back of his neck and looks around the room once more, eyes finally settling in the direction of the bathroom. “I think I’m going to take a shower and then get ready for bed. Is that alright?”

                Dean shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “That’s fine. Ya don’t need my permission.”

                Cas rocks his gaze back to Dean and then rolls his eyes, obviously holding onto some choice words—instead, just sighing before making his way to the bathroom.

                Dean tries not to look as the man undresses, because this doesn’t feel like the time to be sneaking a peek. He wasn’t trying to piss the guy off, but his phone was ringing non-stop the whole tour through the park, and then on the drive to the pizza place for dinner … then twice _during_ dinner. He doesn’t know why Cas didn’t just turn the thing off if he wasn’t going to answer it. Then again, he probably wants to know if there _is_ some sort of emergency or something … which is understandable, but why not just _say_ that?

                Dean distracts himself from Cas’s skin and tries to think of who the caller might be. _It’s probably just Anna wanting to bitch at him some more … or maybe it’s Lew._ Although, Dean doesn’t know why Cas would be avoiding his boss’s calls. The guy always answered when the shop called in the past—plus, Lew encouraged this trip. The only person Dean can think of that Cas would be avoiding like _this_ is his dad; and that really isn’t any business of Dean’s, he knows that … but he also doesn’t want Castiel to always get upended because his cellphone is constantly blowing up with calls.

_This trip was supposed to fun._

                He wishes the guy would just talk to him—tell him who he’s avoiding … and if it _is_ his dad, finally tell him _why._

                Castiel finishes undressing and Dean allows himself to look just in time to see the naked man grab a towel and head into the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind him. The sound of rushing water soon fills the room and cuts all the restraints holding down Dean’s jittery mind.

                With a sigh, he stumbles back towards the bed and collapses onto it again.

_Fun …_

                So far, this trip has just been a lot of ups and downs.

                It’s been perfect half the time, and a constant state of uneasiness the other half. He knew it would be an adjustment, and leaving Hunstville might not be the easiest thing for Castiel, but Dean wasn’t thinking it would sway things _this_ much.

                He sighs again—head swirling with scenarios and exaggerated thoughts that are just making everything worse. They’re so distracting in fact, that he barely even realizes that he’s standing back up, and it takes him a moment to fully comprehend that he’s actually walking towards the sink—as well as the pile of Castiel’s discarded clothes on the floor, and it’s already too late when he finally registers the fact that he’s digging into the guy’s pants pocket, pulling out his phone a second later and lighting up the screen, eyes focusing on all the missed calls.

                “Maggie Mason” Dean whispers—guilt suddenly sinking his gut to his feet.

                All the missed calls are from _Mrs. Mason_ … there are several voicemails too—all from her.

                No wonder Cas was avoiding them.  No wonder he didn’t want to talk about it! He knows that that woman and Dean don’t mix well, so why would he want to announce that she’s harassing him? And here Dean is, assuming the worst, when really, the guy was just choosing not to talk to a crazy old bat who would try to do nothing but ruin their trip.

                _I’m an idiot._

                Dean swallows hard and shoves the phone back into Cas’s pants, dropping them once more onto the ground before hightailing it back to the bed.

                “Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Dean smacks himself in the head, hating that he didn’t trust Cas's word, but hating even more that he just invaded his privacy. Cas _told_ _him_ not to worry about it—he told him that the calls were nothing; but _no_ , Dean couldn’t believe him! He had to assume that his boyfriend was keeping some big, awful secret!

                _God damnit._

The water shuts off and Dean breathes deep, staring up at the ceiling—scolding himself over and over with every quiet second that passes by. Soon, he hears the bathroom door click open and Castiel walking out. He peeks across the room—seeing the man step in front of the mirror, towel around his waist and steam curling out into the air.

                Then, Castiel shuffles over to the arm chair where his bag is and begins sifting through it, and Dean tilts his head to look him over.

                “Cas?” he whispers, watching as the man’s shoulders stiffen.

                “Yes?”

                “I’m sorry … I shouldn’t have pried.”

                “It’s fine, Dean” Cas mutters, not turning around and still digging through his bag.

                Dean sighs. “No—it’s not. I know leaving wasn’t easy, and then me questioning you every two seconds certainly isn’t helping.”

                “No worries. All is forgotten” the other man says, sounding very unconvincing.

                Dean rocks onto his side and reaches out, grabbing Cas’s wrist and whipping him around so that he can look up into his eyes. “I’m serious … I won’t bug you about it anymore. You don’t owe me an explanation and how you handle your life is _your_ business. I’ll stay out of it.”

                Castiel looks away, seeming more hurt by Dean’s words than anything. “You shouldn’t have to be afraid to ask, Dean … I’m … I’m sorry it's so hard for me to talk about these things. I just—I don’t know how to explain it all just yet.”

                Dean shakes his head, squeezing the man’s wrist more tightly and rubbing his hand with his thumb. “Well, I don’t wanna rush you. When you tell me … if you ever want to, I want you to feel good about it. I don’t want to yank it out of you.”

                The other man shrivels on an exhale but a slight smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Soon, those big eyes are smiling too. “I think you just might be _my_ good luck charm.”

                Dean laughs a little before he lies back down— back flat on the bed, guiding Cas around the side of the mattress until he’s standing flush to the edge—thighs on either side of Dean’s head. “Well, don’t hang me from your key chain just yet” he whispers, reaching above him to undo Castiel’s towel. The rough white fabric falls away, leaving the other man bare and hanging right above Dean’s face.

                He licks his lips as he looks at Cas’s cock, and soon, he’s pulling at the man again, making him bend down so Dean can suck him in—inch after inch, filling up his throat and slipping against his tongue.

                Cas moans as he dips back and forth, rocking his dick in and out of Dean’s mouth.

                The position is new and it makes it far easier to swallow every bit of Castiel— easier than any of the other ways they’ve tried; and the other man doesn’t seem to mind it at all—because soon, Dean feels Cas’s fingers dance over his throat—touching lightly, feeling his own cock slip beneath the thin expanse of flesh. He presses softly each time it moves, and Dean rumbles happily—his hands slipping down and into his own pants. He strokes himself lazily as Cas begins to fuck his throat even faster.

                “Oh God … _Dean_ …” Cas wheezes, hips shuttering and causing him to shake against Dean’s teeth.

                With only a few more minutes of this, Dean is already spilling out over his hand and moaning loudly around Castiel’s cock. And that seems to be the trick that breaks the other man as well, and soon, the warmth is gushing down Dean’s throat, and he does his best to swallow it all.

                Cas gasps and barely pulls out in time before he collapses.

                Dean coughs a little but is smiling in spite of it, because he really _does_ love doing that.

                “I—I enjoyed that quite a bit” Cas says, and Dean can feel the guy’s breath hot against his arm.

                “I did too” he rasps out, knowing that his voice is going to be wrecked tomorrow, but he doesn’t care.

                “Dean … I— ”

                Castiel’s phone rings again and the air instantly thickens, making Dean choke in a different way.

                The bed rocks as Cas pulls himself to his feet. “I’m going to go take care of this.”

                Dean opens his mouth to tell him that he doesn’t have to—that it’s really okay, that he doesn’t mind at all—but then he catches sight of the look in Castiel’s eyes and he realizes, this has nothing to do with _him_. “Yeah, okay.”

                Cas stumbles over to his pants, still crumpled on the floor before searching for his phone.

                Dean cranes his neck up, feeling far too weak from the last few minutes to hold it that way for long. He watches as Cas stares down at the screen, setting the phone on the edge of the sink quickly afterwards so that he can yank the pants back on.  In the matter of seconds, he’s half-dressed and walking towards the motel room door.

                “I’ll just be a moment” he whispers, still looking down at his cell as he opens up the door and walks through.

                “Oka—” Dean’s cut off by the latch smashing back into the frame.

 

                It wasn’t a moment … it was longer. Dean isn’t sure of how long because he dozed off sometime after twenty minutes. It wasn’t until he felt the bed shift again, that he realized Cas had come back in.

                “Do you want to get under the covers, Dean?” Cas whispers, and Dean groggily nods.

                Castiel helps him kick off his shoes and slip out of the rest of his clothes so that he can comfortably crawl into bed.  Dean smiles dreamily as he shifts in and out of consciousness, unsure of what is real or what’s is just in his head—but it doesn’t matter, because either way, Cas is there with him, along with the welcomed warmth of the covers. He soon feels Castiel’s hand on his chest and his lips on his forehead, and it finally pushes him over the edge completely and into a sound and peaceful sleep.

***

                The sound of the phone ringing gets louder and louder, making him realize that he’s not actually dreaming it. Dean groans and tosses beneath the sheets. “Cas … the phone!” he moans, really wishing the guy would at least put it on vibrate.

                The phone continues to ring.

                Dean finally cracks open his eyes and squints against the morning sun pouring in through the window. “Cas … I don’t care if ya answer it or not, but can you _please_ just make it shut up?”

                The ringing carries on and it takes Dean another moment to realize that that’s _his_ phone. “ _Shit_.”

                He jerks himself upright and looks around the room, trying to find the damn thing before it drives him crazy. “Alright, alright! I’m comin!” Dean kicks his feet out from under the covers and places them onto the floor, rocking himself upright, wobbling with the shake in his joints.  He stops a second, wondering why he’s so damn jittery, only to smile a second later when he remembers the night before; but the phone rings yet again, pulling him very rudely from his happy place. Dean groans even louder now and quickly turns around, looking towards the nightstand on the other side of the bed because he’s pretty sure that’s where he left it, but his gaze is stopped when he sees a piece of paper sitting atop the pillow … the pillow that he thought Castiel would be laying on.

                Dean bends across the bed and picks up the note—chest seizing when his still sleepy eyes, clear enough to read the words.

                “ _I’m sorry. - Cas._ ”

                “What?” Dean gasps, bolting back up in a panic and looking towards the armchair.

                Castiel’s bag is gone.

                “Cas?” Dean yells, rushing to the bathroom—knowing that he won’t find him there but his desperate hope makes him try anyway. The small room is dark and empty … just like Dean’s insides, just like his mind. “Cas!” he yells again, turning and running to the motel door. He flings it open, wincing as the handle crashes into the wall. “ _Cas!_ ” His words echo off the buildings surrounding the motel and all the cars that are still in the parking lot. Dean steps wearily back into the room, feeling far too helpless to be out in the world.

                His phone rings again.

                “ _Cas_ …” he breathes, praying that he’s right, that Cas is the one calling him … that this is all some really bad joke. He turns again and runs towards the nightstand, snatching up his phone as quickly as he can and swiping at the green button to answer it. “Cas?” he gasps, knowing he sounds pathetic and desperate but he doesn’t care.

                “Dean …” Sam’s voice has never been _more_ unwelcome, but Dean can’t bother to feel bad about that now.

                “I can’t—I can’t talk now, Sam … I gotta go!” Dean practically screeches, feeling like precious time is draining away with every second he stands here.

                “Dean!” Sam cries, and Dean looks up in alarm, finally registering the panic in his little brother’s voice.

                “Sam … what’s wrong?” Dean whispers, feeling his heart pound with a new kind of dread.

                Sam’s words quake across the line, broken with the sound of worn tears and terror. “It’s the baby.”


	22. Fault

                Walking through those double doors again damn near brought him to his knees. The white walls, the white tile—the smell of antiseptic and death … and the knowledge that somewhere in here, his baby brother is losing his mind.

                Dean steadies himself before charging to the closest nurse he can see—hoping that he’s calm enough right now to come across coherently, or at very least, non-homicidal. “I’m looking for my brother” he says as he steps into the woman’s path.

                The stout, scrub-covered nurse halts quickly, grimacing up and down at Dean’s intrusion. “Excuse me?”

                Irked, Dean inhales, trying not to scream the words—but he needs to get to Sam. He needs to get to him _now_. “Sorry, but I’m lookin’ for my brother. His wife went into labor last night and something went wrong and … I just need to find him.”

                The woman’s face instantly loses its edge as she sizes Dean up one more time, probably realizing now that she could knock him over with a feather if she wanted to … he’s far too terrified to be a threat. “Maternity is on the second floor. Go down this hall and take a right. You’ll see the elevators. Once you get to the second floor, take a left and you’ll run right into it.”

                Dean nods, pushing past her immediately afterwards—barely remembering to shout “thank you” before he turns at the end of the hallway.

                “Good luck” he hears from around the corner, and he prays that her well-wishes will travel with him upstairs, because if this gnawing sensation in his stomach means anything—it’s that he’ll need all the luck he can get.

 

                The elevator doors pull open and Dean rushes through before they can even separate all the way. He’s soon tearing left and bolting under the large sign that reads “maternity.” The nurse’s station is only a few paces ahead, but just as he’s about to stop and ask what room Jessica and Sam are in, he sees a familiar silhouette braced up against the wall on the far end of the ward. Dean picks up his pace once more and before he can blink, he’s standing in front of Sam—placing his hands on the slouched man’s shoulders and trying desperately to make the kid focus on him, but Sam looks hypnotized—far off and delirious.

                “Sammy?” Dean whispers, shaking his brother a little and trying to snap him out of it. “Hey, Sam … I’m here.”

                Sam finally looks up, eyes clearing as they narrow just over Dean’s shoulder—only to blur again as tears begin to fill the lids. “She was bleeding so much” he whispers—voice raw from all the tears that apparently came before.

                “Jess was … _bleeding_?” Dean asks, knowing that he’s starting to choke up too. When he talked to Sam this morning, he could barely get anything out of him—he was so panicked; after some back and forth however, he at least found out what hospital they were in; and of course, it had to be the same one where their mother had died—but he tried not to think about that the whole drive over.

                He tried not to think about a lot of things.

                “She just woke up—there was blood and she was in pain. I didn’t know what to do! I picked her up! I don’t think I should’ve done that … what if I hurt her? What if I made it worse?” Sam yelps, pushing his back hard into the wall, and for the first time, Dean can see the blood on his brother’s sleeve. It’s dried and caked on—and completely coated.

                “ _Fuck_ ” Dean whispers, almost doubling over from the feeling of his gut stabbing and turning— threatening to devour him from the inside out. “What the fuck happened, Sammy?”

                “I shouldn’t have moved her! I should’ve just called 911! What if I _killed_ her?” Sam is practically screeching now—erupting into sobs before finally falling to the floor.

                Dean drops with him, skidding on his knees and clutching his brother’s head to his chest—rocking him back and forth. “She’ll be okay … she’ll be okay. Both her and the baby will be fine, Sam … just wait and see— _you’ll see_.” He closes his eyes and prays to God that he’s not lying, because he has no idea what’s actually going on, and he has a feeling that Sam doesn’t either.

                “Mr. Winchester?”

                Dean’s eyes flick open as he turns to where the voice came from, flinching when he sees a tall man hovering over them—a blue surgical gown swaying at his feet. “ _Uh_ , yeah?”

                “Which one of you is Sam?” the doctor asks, and the expression on his face only panics Dean more.

                Dean nods towards his brother, whose face is still buried in his chest.

                The doctor drops his chin and then crouches down to their level, placing a steady hand on Sam’s shoulder once he’s settled. “Sam … Sam, I have some news about Jessica.”

                Sam freezes in Dean’s arms—heaving cries stopping instantly before he slowly peels his face away to look at the doctor—with so much hope in his eyes, it breaks Dean’s heart. “Is she … is she alive?” he breathes.

                His nails are digging into Dean’s shoulder but Dean is too eager for the doctor’s answer to care. “Are her and the baby okay?” he adds on, just wanting to understand all this.

                The doctor takes a moment to collect himself as he carefully looks them each in the eye. “Jessica is stable—she lost a lot of blood and needed two transfusions, but she is stable and resting now.”

                Sam seems to shrink, almost as if he’s melting into the tile below them.

                So Dean just hugs him tighter and smiles. “See Sammy, she’s okay—she’s okay.”

                But the doctor’s stiffened jaw makes him quiet once again. “Sam … your wife suffered a lot of trauma to her uterus. It was too much to repair … we had to perform a hysterectomy in order to keep her from bleeding anymore. She—she doesn’t know what happened yet, so you will have to prepare for when she hears the news.”

                Dean is nodding but Sam doesn’t move—he hasn’t moved since he heard that Jess was stable, and Dean is suspicious that Sam didn’t hear anything after that. “Sam?”

                Everything is quiet for several seconds, and then—Sam pulls away, sitting himself upright before yanking his knees to his chest and hugging his arms around them. Then he buries his face down so he’s hidden from the world, curling himself into a tight ball … just like he always used to do when he was little and scared from the dream. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Jess—I’m so sorry” he mutters, shaking with more sobs while teetering back and forth.

                Dean sighs and swallows hard, knowing that there’s nothing he can do once his brother gets to this point. He has to let him settle himself down … he has to let him digest this on his own. Dean runs his hand over the back of Sam’s head before pushing himself up to his feet.

                The doctor rises with him, and soon—is following Dean a few paces down the hall so they can speak more privately.

                They finally come to a stop at the corner, and Dean looks back at Sam—still curled up and rocking on his haunches. “What the hell happened?” he asks, turning back to the doctor a moment later.

                The other man clears his throat as he takes his turn to peer over at Sam. “Are you related?”

                “I’m his brother” Dean mumbles, trying not to choke up again.

                The doctor nods once more—seeming satisfied enough to risk the legality here. “Jessica had a placental abruption—which means the placenta began to peel away from the side of the uterine wall. This caused her to bleed internally, and it also meant that the baby was no longer receiving the nutrients and support it needed. Both of their heart rates dropped severely. We had to perform an emergency C-section and then, as I told you before—we had to remove Jessica’s uterus in order to stop the bleeding. Thankfully, she is stable now—and barring any other unforeseen complications, she should eventually recover.”

                Dean feels like he could pass out—he braces himself against the wall just in case, shaking his head and choking down the bile filling his throat. “And … _the baby_?”

                The doctor’s eyes drop to the floor. “He was unresponsive at first—it took my team a few minutes to revive him—“

                “ _Oh god_ ” Dean gasps, feeling like he might throw up any second.

                “But we _did_ revive him” the doctor ensures, reaching out and rubbing Dean’s shoulder.

                With another swallow, Dean nods and inhales through his nose, trying yet again to calm himself down. “And now? How’s he doing _now_?”

                “I—I don’t have much more information than that. Once we revived him, they took him to the NICU. I had to tend to Jessica as soon as they took him out.”

                “So he might be …” Dean can’t finish the thought, and he hates himself for even thinking it.

                “He could be fine …” the doctor attempts, squeezing Dean’s arm a little harder. “These types of cases could go either way, but there _is_ a chance he could pull through.”

                Dean shakes his head because he feels like the doctor is just placating him now. “Pull through after how long? You can’t honestly be telling me that in a day or two, he’ll be all pink and healthy—not after something like this!”

                The tall doctor bites his lip and lets out another, heavy sigh. “No—you’re right.” Soon, he drops his hand back to his side and shoves it into the pocket of his gown, standing straighter and looking randomly around the room. “The best case scenario would be—he spends a month or so in the NICU. A placental abruption usually means that the baby’s organs begin to fail, and their blood pressure is erratic. He’ll need to be heavily monitored, and he may even need surgery—transplants, implants … that sort of thing. I can’t say for sure, because I don’t know what his current state is; however, I _have_ seen babies pull through. I've seen them leave here—after some time, and they _are_ healthy. Yes—they may have more complications down the road, but they _survived_. Don’t lose hope.”

                Dean feels like his own organs are failing, because _hope_ and him never got along—but he nods anyway.

                “I better get back and check on Jessica—and I’ll try to get someone out here to update you on the baby.”

                “John” Dean mutters, feeling a runaway tear roll down his cheek.

                “What?” the doctor asks, confused and now—sounding slightly worried for Dean as well.

                “The baby’s name is _John_.”

                With a smile, the doctor reaches out again and pats Dean on the back. “ _John_ … I’ll make sure that they know that.”

***

                It took another hour, but Dean finally managed to get Sam off the floor and into a chair—and to choke down a few sips of water. Next, he’ll have to get him another shirt to wear … but that’s low on the list at the moment. The doctor had come back out one more time to let them know that Jess would be waking up soon—and they could see her as soon as they set her up in her room. He also said that he found the doctor on John’s case and told him to update them as soon as possible. It wasn’t too reassuring, but the mere fact that there was still a doctor in charge of John, and that there was anything _to_ update—told Dean that he was at least _alive_ , and that is about all he could ask for right now.

               

                There is a muted TV above their heads, playing some sort of cooking show, and for a moment, Dean thinks about the meal that he made for Cas—how he was so worried about it turning out well … how panicked he felt when watching the guy take that first, telling bite. How happy and relieved he was when Cas hummed happily and quickly took another. That was all he had to be concerned over back then—and that was only a week ago.

                _What the hell happened?_

                “Dean …”

                Dean jumps, because his brother had been so quiet for so long, he had almost forgot what the kid sounded like. “Yeah, Sammy—what do ya need? More water? Are ya hungry?”

                “Did I do this? Is this … is this my fault?” Sam is staring across the tile floor and straight at the wall—his eyes are vacant and his voice sounds hollow and too dry for all the tears Dean knows he still has in him.

                “What? Of course not! Sam—how could you even think that?”

                “If I hadn’t moved her …”

                Dean sighs and then twists in his seat, looking at his brother as seriously as he can. “Sam—the doctor said that this was all really sudden. You getting her here as quickly as possible probably saved her life— _and_ your son’s.”

                Sam’s jaw tightens and Dean watches as his brother’s giant fists clench on his lap. “Is he going to live?”

                Dean bites his lip and tries to steel himself. “The doctors are doing everything they can." The words sound so cold on his tongue. He swallows them down to make room for something warmer. "And remember, he’s a _Winchester_.”

                For the first time since Dean had gotten here, Sam turns and looks him in the eye. “Winchesters die.”

***

                They finally got the okay to go in and see Jess. Thankfully, just before that, one of the nurses brought out an extra-large scrub top for Sam to change into. Dean didn’t think Jessica needed to see her husband covered in blood, considering she probably still has no idea what happened. 

                When they get to her door, Sam hesitates—but with a gentle push from Dean, he finally goes inside.

                She looks so tiny in that bed—far too pale and with far too many tubes stringing her up. It all just seems so wrong, and so reminiscent of their mother that Dean’s head begins to throb.  She shouldn’t look this way. Her eyes should be open, she should be up and bouncing around—never slowing, talking a mile a minute. That’s the Jess he knows—that’s the Jess that drives him crazy. That’s the Jess he loves.

                “Jessica?” Sam whispers, creeping up to his wife’s bedside and reaching out to hold her hand.

                The frail woman turns her head and opens her eyes, looking up at her husband, smiling a moment later—as if she had just woken from a pleasant dream. “Hey, babe” she croaks—furrowing her brow a second later, as if she’s confused as to why her throat is sore.

                “How ya feeling?” Sam asks, and Dean can tell by the sound of his voice that he’s starting to cry again.

                “I’m … I’m okay … I think” Jess says, looking around the room and then up at the monitors and I.V. bags that are dangling above her head. “What happened?”

                Sam takes a shaky deep breath. “ _Um_ …”

                Jessica’s eyes begin to widen and she tries to sit up—but Sam lunges forward and pushes her back down by her shoulders.

                “Don’t move, Jess—okay? Just stay still.”

                Jessica shakes her head, looking more and more panicked with every unexplained moment that passes them by. “No! Why? What happened?”

                “Jess—” Sam chokes, wet streaks already smearing across his face. He runs his large hand through his wife’s hair, “baby …”

                “No! Sam! Tell me what the hell happened! Tell me—” her voice cuts out as her eyes drop to her own stomach … now flatter and covered in ice packs. “ _No_ …” she whispers. “No … where is he? Where is my baby?”

                Sam chokes on another sob and then drops to his knees, clutching onto Jess’s hand as hard as he can.

                She can only stare at him—eerily silent now, before her eyes finally drag back up—noticing Dean for the first time since they came into the room. “Dean?”

                Dean shoves his hands into his pockets and attempts a weak smile. “Hey, Jess.”

                “Tell me what happened.” Her sudden calmness only terrifies him more, and Dean really wishes he wasn’t the one who had to do this. He wants to go and get a doctor—someone who is equipped to explain these things, but he knows Jess—and she would just freak out even more if he turned around and left.

                “They—they said it was a placenta abruption or … _something_ like that. You … you lost a lot of blood, and they had to do a C-section.”

                She lifts her chin and hollows out her cheeks as she sucks in a breath. “And  … my son?”

                Dean shifts in place. “I—I don’t know exactly.”

                “Is he alive?” she asks, her voice breaking with the inflection.

                “I—I think so” Dean mutters, looking away—ashamed that he doesn’t know more.

                Just then, the door opens behind them and the doctor from before walks into the room. He nods to Dean and then looks over to Jessica, smiling softly before stepping to the side of her bed. “Hello Jessica, my name is Dr. Whitmore. I wanted to come in here and explain some things—I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

                “Is my baby alive?” she asks, just as sternly as before—but now, a little more rushed.

                Dr. Whitmore gives her a short nod. “He is, but I’m afraid I don’t have too much information on him just yet.”

                It’s not much more than what Dean had said, but the fact that someone of authority was saying it now seems like all that Jessica needed. She quickly sinks back against her pillows and smiles up at the ceiling. Tears begin to fall down her cheeks as she reaches over with her other hand and clasps onto Sam’s “Thank god … _oh my god_ —thank you! He’s alive, Sam—our son is alive!”

                Dean watches as Sam still shivers beside the bed, not joining in with Jessica’s joy.

                “Sam—did you hear me?” Jess says—her elation rapidly dying as she looks at the top of her husband’s head.

                “Jessica …” the doctor says, pulling the woman’s eyes back to him, “when you arrived, you had lost a lot of blood. We had to perform a C-section in order to save your son and yourself from bleeding anymore.”

                “Okay … but you _saved_ him” she says, apparently failing to see how anything else could matter beyond _that_.

                “We revived him, yes.”

                Jess’s face turns suddenly white. “He wasn’t breathing when he was born?”

                “No … but we got him back.”

                “So what does that mean? Is he going to be okay? When can I see him? I want to see him!” Jessica begins to pull at the covers that are draped over her, but the doctor only pulls them back down.

                “Someone will be in soon to explain what is happening with him, but for now, you need to lay still and rest.”

                “I don’t want to rest! I want to see my son!” Jessica screams, finally yanking her other hand free from Sam’s hold—which makes him flinch and look back up at her in shock. She begins to push herself upright some more—wincing and gasping at the pain she must be feeling from all the bandaged incisions, and Dean winces with her.

                “Baby, please don’t move!” Sam pleads, finally rising to his feet again—tears still streaming down his face.

                “I want to see my son!” she screams again.

                Helplessly, Sam just looks her over, and Dean takes a step backwards, feeling more useless than he ever has in his life.

                Jessica continues to thrash and yank at her IV’s.

                “Jessica!” Dr. Whitmore rumbles, sounding so stern that it stills the woman immediately. “You _need_ to lie still.”

                Jess looks up at him—face twisting as she starts to cry again. “I want to _see_ him … I want to see my baby! Please! Just let me see him” she chokes out for a final time, eventually dropping her face into her hands.

                Sam curls around her, hugging her close as he cries too.

                “I know you do … but, you _need_ to understand—you suffered a lot of trauma. Moving too much now might cause even more damage.”

                Jessica looks back at the doctor, now seeming angry as she stares into his eyes. “What do you mean?”

                The doctor sighs, stretching out his arm so he can rest it on the woman’s shoulder. “The bleeding was the result of a placental abruption. It left your uterus severely damaged—we had to remove it in order to save your life.”

                Jessica’s jaw drops and she stutters on various sounds before she can finally form a word. “H—how?”

                “This can happen from time to time for various reasons—past trauma, previous complicated births, or even stress.  Stress alters hormone levels severely. This can weaken the lining of the uterus—and when the lining is weak, the placenta can’t remain attached.”

                “So you’re saying …” Jessica rasps, chest heaving on all the reality now settling in her lungs, “that my baby could’ve died because I was _stressed out_? You’re saying I can’t have any more children because I’ve had a lot going on in my life?” She is spitting her words into the air like a snake spitting venom. “You’re saying we both almost died because I can’t handle myself?”

                “ _No_ , this is nothing that _you did”_ Dr. Whitmore says, obviously on edge now because of the turn this all took.

                “No! No of course not! Yet, everyone else in the world can have a bad day and _not_ have their insides hacked apart— _but not me!_ ” she hisses, looking crazed and close to breaking.

                “Stress is a serious thing, and long-term stress can cause a multitude of problems in just about everyone. This is _not_ something you could help.”

                Jessica only glares at the doctor—her eyes, dark and shining with furious floods. “I _could have_ helped it. I could've done something!” she growls, and Dean doesn’t think he’s ever heard her so angry.

                “Babe—don’t blame yourself” Sam pleads, but he can only cower when her fury turns on _him_.

                “I could've done something, Sam! I could've stopped working sooner … I could've not been so eager to save for a house! I could've stopped worrying so damn much about all of it! _I_ did this!” the woman crumbles, folding over herself and jolting on sobs.

                _“Jess_ … no, you didn’t—” Dean jumps in, wanting to say something, _do_ something—because he can’t just keep standing here and watch the only family he has left, fall apart.

                “ _You!_ ” Jess screeches, head snapping back up again so she can impale Dean with her gaze.

                Dean jumps, heart stopping in his chest because he has never heard his sister-in-law talk to him like this. “ _You_ just _had_ to run away, didn’t you? You didn’t care _at all_ how it affected us! You just _left!_ You left and it tore Sam apart, which tore _me_ apart! You made this all _so_ much worse!”

                “Jess, I—” Dean stammers, wanting to explain.

                “Get out!” she screams again, shoving Sam away—as if she is going to lunge from the bed and throw Dean out herself.

                “Jessica, please lie back down” Dr. Whitmore warns, gently pushing on the woman’s shoulders in an attempt to keep her still.

                “I want him out! Get the fuck out!” Jessica bellows even louder—her face turning red with her panic.

                Dean steps backwards again until he’s flush with the wall, nodding and holding out his hand. “Okay, okay … I’m going! I’m sorry—I’m so sorry!”

                The doctor nods at him, gesturing for him to leave, so Dean turns tail and runs for the door, flinging it open and busting through in a tumble.  He nearly takes out someone wheeling an empty gurney, but he barely notices, because all he can hear are Jessica’s screams and Sam’s strangled words, and the doctor’s pleas for them both to calm down.

                _What did I do?_

_What the fuck did I do?_

***

                The phone rings once and then clicks over to voicemail, and Dean can’t find it within himself to be surprised.

                “ _You have reached the voicemail of Castiel Novak. I am unable to answer your call at the moment, however—if you leave a brief message, I will respond as soon as possible._ ”

                The beep is deafening, and Dean shutters with the piercing tones—choking on all the words fermenting between his teeth.

                _I don’t know what to do, Cas._

_I miss you._

_What happened?_

_I just need to talk to you._

_Please …_

                He swallows it all back down and just hangs up instead.

                Cas _left_ him.

                There’s nothing he can say now that will change that. He can't change a single, damn thing. 


	23. How They Grow

                It’s been four days and Dean already knows all the cafeteria workers by name.

                “Susan! Where’s my pie, ya brown eyed angel? I got a long day ahead and it’ll be a hell of a lot easier with some cherry pie … made by _my_ cherry pie!”

                A rotund woman appears from the back, holding a plate covered in plastic wrap with a sticky note on it saying “Dean”.  She’s soon standing just on the other side of the glass casing, sliding the pie over the counter for Dean to take. “You think I forgot?” she says with a giggle.

                Dean just shrugs and then bats his eyes at her. “I dunno—I thought maybe some other handsome devil came down here and swept you off your feet … took you to Hawaii or somethin’ and is giving you the good life.” He reaches out for the plate of pie as Susan continues to giggle before smacking him on the wrist.

                “If that happened, I’d still leave you some pie.”

                “You’re too good to me, Susan. Really—if all goes well here, I’m buying you a ring.”

                The blush soon leaves the woman’s face, and her giddy grin recedes. “It _will_ go well, sweetheart … any more news?”

                Dean sighs and shakes his head. “John is still up and down—too unstable for Jess or Sam to go and see. They’re talkin' heart transplants.”

                Susan claps her hand over her mouth. “Oh no! Can they even do one when he’s that tiny?”

                Dean shrugs again. “I think they said that he’d need to grow some before they could. I don’t know.” He puts the pie down on his tray and pokes at it with his finger, flaking off some of the crust and squishing out the filling. “Good crust today” he says meagerly, wanting to change the subject—especially since he’s still so clueless.

                He _hates_ being clueless.

                Thankfully, Susan is close to sixty five years old and has apparently been around long enough to know how to take a hint. “I cut back on the butter. It doesn’t weigh it down as much.”

                Dean smirks. “Yeah, sure—you’re just trying to make me watch my figure.”

                Susan tosses him a sultry wink from beneath her hair net. “Of course not, sweetie … I already watch it enough for the both of us.”

                “You’re gonna get me in trouble, young lady” Dean scolds playfully as he picks up his tray and walks towards the coffee.

                “If all goes according to plan!” she chuckles.

                Dean rolls his eyes as he saunters to the coffee dispensers—mood quickly changing at the sight of the watery, musty smelling crap that’s coming out of them. “They call this coffee?” he mutters to himself, trying not to think about Anna’s coffee … trying to push down the hope that he’ll hear the rumble of that diesel engine and the rumble of Cas’s voice as he brings him a large cup of _heaven_ like he did before.

                He frowns, reluctantly filling his mug when the only sounds he hears are the familiar _clanks_ and _pings_ from the pots and pans in the kitchen behind him. He then sets the mug on his tray and loads it with as much creamer and sugar as he can—the only way to make it drinkable.

                “I thought you drank it black.”

                Dean looks up to see his brother, or at least—what used to be, because the man standing beside him now is sunken in and drooping—a beaten shell. “Oh—yeah, well … I usually do, but this stuff ain’t black to start with.”

                Sam yawns and then nods. “K—can ya grab me a cup too?”

                “Sure, sure. Go get us a table and I’ll get it. Ya want some food?”

                Sam takes a moment and then slowly shakes his head. “I’m good.”

                Dean frowns. “Sammy, it’s been days since I’ve seen you actually eat anything.”

                “Haven’t been hungry.”

                “Go get us a table. I’m gonna get you somethin’ to eat.”

                “But, Dean—”

                “No but’s! _Sit!_ ” Dean commands, pointing towards the seating area that is set up beside the buffets.

                Sam weakly tosses up his hand. “Fine, fine—whatever.”

                Dean takes a moment to watch his kid brother stumble to the nearest booth and sit down, and about as soon as he does, Sam plops his head onto his folded arms and closes his eyes. “Oh, Sammy” Dean whispers, sadly. It breaks his heart to see his brother like this, and it’s even worse that there is literally _nothing_ he can do about it—nothing except try to feed him. “Susan!” he calls out a second later, turning back to the line of buffet carts.

                The woman twists around and looks at him, eyebrows raised with question.

                “My brother needs some food.” He nods towards Sam—still slumped over himself in the booth.

                Susan follows his gaze and then stands straighter, nodding sternly before whipping around and rushing into the back.

                It’s still fairly early and only the really old folks are down here right now, so most of the food hasn’t even been brought out yet. Dean smiles, knowing that Susan—and Diane in the back, and Hal, who works the deli, will take good care of Sam now that he’s actually down here. After all, they’ve heard all about him. Dean had told them what was going on that first night after he got to the hospital. He didn’t know where else to go after Jess kicked him out, so he followed the smell of food. The cafeteria was just about to close, but thankfully—Susan saw the look on Dean’s face and read it instantly … he needed _pie_ , and lots of it. So she brought him some cherry, and then Diane came out with some of the _good_ coffee that they kept in the back; and then Hal listened in as Dean began to talk to both the ladies—he mopped the floors, the women sat and listened, and Dean unashamedly cried on their shoulders about everything that happened that day. Well— _almost_ everything. He mentioned that he was dumped that morning, but that’s all he said. He didn’t go into the details; mainly because he didn’t think he was strong enough to say it all aloud just yet. In any case, the three cafeteria workers became his best friends in that moment, and they now ask him about Sam and Jess every time they seem him, which seems to be fairly often; and they send their prayers to John every single day. It would probably feel strange to him if he was anywhere else, doing _anything_ else—but since he’s _here_ , in this place already filled with so many memories and so much heartache, Dean can’t hold it against himself for needing the company. Especially if he’s going to be Sam’s main support system—Dean is going to need to be strong enough to keep the kid upright, and if the only way he can do that is by leaning on two older ladies and an ex-prisoner with knuckle-to-neck tattoos, then _damn_ —that’s what he’s gonna do!

                Dean quickly fills another mug with coffee and then takes his tray over to the booth where Sam is currently crumpled. “Here ya go, bud … it’s not very good, but it’s caffeinated” he says, picking up the second mug and sliding it in front of Sam.

                “ _Hm?_ Oh, thanks” Sam mutters, slowly pulling his face from his arms. He reaches out and lifts the mug to his chapped lips, grimacing just as soon as he takes a sip. “God … that _is_ bad.”

                Dean laughs. “Yeah, they keep the drinkable stuff in the back, but no matter how much I sweet talk Susan, she won’t bring it out for me again.”

                Sam opens his mouth to ask, but then closes it quickly—shaking his head and apparently choosing not to know.

                Dean smiles and then takes a drink of his own coffee. “So—how’s she doing?” he asks after another minute of silence.

                Sam looks down at his mug and frowns—seeming so weighted by all this, that he could just collapse into the drink. “She’s sleeping. They gave her something to knock her out.”

                Dean nods, picking up his fork and stabbing it into his pie—but he doesn’t take a bite.

                “She’s been awake for days. It was messing with her blood pressure, so they finally made her sleep. She wasn’t happy about it.”

                “Yeah—well, I don’t blame her.”

                Sam agrees, looking away and taking a deep breath. “You know ... she didn’t mean any of that stuff, right? She was just upset.”

                Dean stabs at his pie some more. “Yeah … I mean, I don’t blame her for that either … but she was right. I didn’t help make anything any less stressful for you two.”

                “Maybe not, but it was all already stressful enough. And you takin’ off wasn’t as big of a deal as she made it sound.”

                Deans scoffs. “ _Yeah_.”

                “I’m serious, Dean. We weren’t expecting you to live your life around us. It—it was upsetting when you left so abruptly, but … we understood it. Jess … she just saw you as a scapegoat the other day. She woke up, and her entire world was turned upside down, so she needed someone to blame, and you were right there.”

                With a nod, Dean finally takes a bite of his pie and chews it slowly, knowing that Sam is probably right, but it doesn’t do anything to assuage this guilt.

                “So …” Susan’s voice comes breaking through the icy tension like a snow plow, “we got waffles and bacon, and sausage—and we got eggs: over-easy, hard boiled _and_ scrambled … wasn’t sure how ya like ‘em. Then we got danishes, bagels and toast: wheat, white and sourdough.  There’s also fresh fruit cut up in the back that I can bring out if ya want it; but I figured—if you’re anything like your brother here, you won’t eat it.” Her and Diane set down all the plates on their table, soon dusting them each with their warm, loving smiles.

                Dean laughs as he looks at the feast before him. “Oh ladies, you’ve outdone yourselves!”

                Sam’s eyes are wide, and he looks more awake now than he has in days. “Yeah— _uh_ , I don’t know who could even eat all this.”

                Susan chirps out a laugh and then claps Sam on the shoulder. “With as tall as you are, honey? I’m sure you could put a good portion of it away.”

                Dean lets out an exaggerated gasp. “Susan! Baby! Are you trying to put the moves on my brother?”

                “What can I say, I like ‘em tall.” The woman gives Sam a wink before she turns and saunters back towards the kitchen.

                Dean plays up the hurt on his face. “Well … _Diane_ , I still got _you,_ right?”

                Diane—the more serious of the two, just gives him a pointed look before rolling her eyes. “Eat your eggs, Dean.”

                “Oh, Diane … the schoolmarm thing always _did_ get me going” he says with a lecherous purr.

                “So, does that mean I get to smack you with a ruler?” the woman deadpans.

                “Don’t tease me now!”

                Diane rolls her eyes even harder before she groans and walks away. “ _Idiot_.”

                “Thank you, Diane!” Dean calls after her, mouth already full of bacon and eggs. He turns back, smiling—only to be met by his brother’s shocked face.

                “Friends of yours?” Sam asks, glancing back towards the kitchen.

                “Oh, yeah … been comin’ here a lot” Dean says, continuing to shovel more food down his throat.

                “Obviously.” Sam turns towards all the plates, looking over each of them in wonder. “How do they expect us to eat all this?”

                Dean just shrugs before reaching for some toast. “By putting it in your mouth, probably.”

                Sam snorts, but finally grabs a fork and stabs some scrambled eggs and moves them to his lips.

                Dean watches him closely as he takes that first bite; and he does an internal victory dance when the kid swallows it and then eats another. Soon—three of the plates are empty, and Sam is waving down Diane and asking about that fresh fruit they’ve still got in the kitchen.

                “I don’t know why you’d want to ruin this perfectly good meal with all that healthy shit” Dean says, standing up to go refill his coffee.

                Sam laughs but swats Dean’s arm before he gets too far away.

                Dean stops mid-step and turns back to look at his brother, eyebrows raised to see what he wants.

                Sam smiles at him and then quickly looks down, seeming shy and tiny, and ten years younger all at once. “Hey … _Dean_ … thanks for all this.”

                Dean curls the corner of his mouth into his cheek but brushes off the sentiment—hand soon shooting out to ruffle his brother’s hair. “Don’t mention it, Sammy. What are big brothers for?”

***

                After they finished their breakfast and thanked everyone several hundred more times, they headed back upstairs to the maternity ward. There, Dean set out to tend to the rest of his brother’s needs—first, he brought up his duffle bag from his car and shoved it into Sammy’s arms; then—he flirted with one of the nurses and convinced her to let Sam use the shower and borrow some more clean scrubs to wear. After that, he had to convince Sam that he _did really need_ a shower … because, let’s face it … _he did._

                “You stink, Sam.”

                “I’m not _that_ bad.”

                “Look around you, you’re making everyone here, sick.”

                “It’s a hospital, Dean. They’re all already sick.”

                “Well … you’re certainly not helping.” Dean unzips the bag and shows him the deodorant and shampoo that he can use, and then hands him the clean scrubs, quickly pushing him towards the open room where the shower is. “Now, _go!_ Besides, I’m sure Jess would appreciate her husband _not_ smelling like a garbage heap.” He knew that mentioning his wife would do the trick, even though—given the circumstances, it was probably not the most tasteful route to take; but Sam needs to take care of himself just as much as he needs to take care of Jess and John, and Dean is here to make sure that he does just that.

                Sam mumbles something that’s most likely offensive, but walks towards the shower all the same.

                “You’ll thank me later!” Dean calls out, just as his brother slams the door behind him, and he laughs when the kid’s mumbling can still be heard through the wood.

***

                Dean had snagged the shower after Sam was done, because he realized—he probably wasn’t much better off in the cleanliness-department.  Once they were both presentable, they set up their usual camp in the waiting room just outside the hall to the maternity ward. Sam was already dosing off in the chair beside him, while Dean watched yet another cooking show on the muted TV above their heads. This one seemed to be some sort of cake competition. A team of two young men are running around the kitchen, frantically looking for … _something_ , while another team of two older women are making some sort of sugar-curly things to put on top of their cake. Dean isn’t really a cake-fan, but he has to admit—the one that those ladies are making looks pretty damn good.

                “Excuse me, are you Sam Winchester?”

                Dean breaks away from the TV to see a woman dressed in pink scrubs with a stethoscope draped around her neck, staring at him hopefully. “Oh— _uh_ , no … _he is_.” Dean elbows Sam, making the guy jump awake and look around the room in a panic.

                “What? What’s wrong?” he yelps, rubbing at his eyes and shaking the sleep from his shaggy head.

                “Nothing—nothing at all, Mr. Winchester. I’m Dr. Ming. I took over your son’s case, and I just wanted to let you know … he’s stable enough for you to come and see him if you’d like.”

                Dean feels his insides swell so big, they could burst out all over the tile; and he's soon turning to look at his brother to see if he’s feeling the same—but he’s fairly surprised when he sees Sam, as white as a ghost. “Sam? Did you hear her? You get to meet John!”

                Sam doesn’t move and doesn’t speak—he just continues to stare at the doctor like she’s something from another world.

                Dean turns back to her and shrugs, his mouth hanging open because he doesn’t know what to do.

                But Dr. Ming just smiles and moves to the other seat beside Sam, sitting down swiftly and placing her hand on his. “Mr. Winchester … _Sam_. I know that this is probably a little scary for you. This isn’t how you were expecting to meet your son. We have a lot of new fathers react this way when it comes to situations like these … and _that’s okay_. But you need to remember, your wife needs you to be her eyes and ears for a while—until she is strong enough to come and see John for herself. And—John needs his father to come and root for him. I see it every day—a baby always gets stronger and more stable when they have family come and visit. He needs you to help him get better.”

                Dean watches, amazed as Sam’s color begins to return to his cheeks—and soon, his brother is nodding and shakily pulling himself to his feet.

                “Okay” Sam whispers. “Okay—let’s go meet him.”

                Dean stands up too, wrapping his arm around his brother’s shoulders and pulling him into a hug. “You tell him I said _hello_ , okay Sammy?”

                Sam stops before he can even take a full step, turning and giving Dean a shocked and disappointed look. “You’re not coming with me?”

                Dean gapes for a second, actually surprised that Sam wants him to. “Oh— _uh_ , I don’t know if I’m—ya know … _allowed._ ”

                “You can come if you’d like—as long as it’s okay with Sam” Dr. Ming says, quickly gesturing for them both to follow her.

                “Yeah—yeah, it’s okay with me. John needs to meet his uncle.”

                Dean smiles, suddenly feeling the nerves that Sam must have been feeling a second ago. “Okay … yeah. I _uh_ —I guess I’ll come too.”

***

                He has never felt so giant and so tiny all at once, but standing in the middle of all these incubators—little, delicate lives surrounding him—swaddled in striped blankets and breathing tubes … Dean feels helpless. He is too big and cumbersome to move; yet too minuscule and stupid to do anything else. Dr. Ming motions them towards one of the plastic boxes, but neither him nor Sam follow, and Dean imagines that his brother is going through the same complex that he is right now.

                “John is right in here” Dr. Ming says softly, pointing at a tiny, blue capped ball of pink that Dean can only assume is his nephew.

                “I don’t know if I can do this, Dean” Sam breathes, barely loud enough for Dean to hear over the beeps of the monitors surrounding them.

                “You have to, man” Dean says, just as quietly.

                “What if I hurt him? What if I do something wrong and I _hurt him?_ ”

                Dean takes a deep breath, knowing that he’s going to have to be stronger if he’s going to get Sammy through this. “You won’t, Sam. _He’s your son_ —you won’t do anything to hurt him. You can’t.” He knows that the guy doesn’t really believe him, but Sam nods anyway and takes a step forward.

                Soon, Dean’s following him across the room and the next thing he knows, they’re looking down on the sweetest face he thinks he has ever seen in his life.

                _“Woah_ …” Dean whispers, already feeling his eyes begin to burn with tears.

                “He … he’s mine?” Sam chokes out, looking up to Dr. Ming with wet, hopeful eyes.

                “He’s all yours” she says, happily. “He’s a handsome one, isn’t he?”

                “He’s beautiful” Sam says, bending down to look through the clear walls of the incubator. “I … I was afraid …”

                “He wouldn’t look like a baby?” Dr. Ming adds on, giving him another, warm smile.

                Sam nods and his cheeks turn red with embarrassment.

                “That’s a common concern, but thankfully—once babies come in here and we can clean them up and get them warm, they all usually start to look better.”

                Sam nods again and turns his eyes back to his son, and he doesn’t blink for a solid minute.

                Dean can only watch him watch the baby, and more tears fill his eyes because of it. He remembers when Sam wasn’t much bigger than this—he remembers helping his mom wrap him up in blankets. He remembers putting the little hats on his head and the tiny socks on his feet. He remembers thinking that he would die before he’d ever let anything in the world hurt his baby brother. It’s hard to believe that his baby brother now has a baby of his own, but here he is. _John._

                Sam stands upright suddenly, looking at Dr. Ming in earnest. “Is there a way … I mean … can I …”

                Her smile slowly flattens as she starts to shake her head. “I’m afraid you can’t hold him …” she says sadly, “but if you come around this side, I can pull up a stool and you can put your hand in and touch him.”

                Sam’s face lights up and he practically knocks Dean over moving around to the other side of the incubator.

                Dr. Ming laughs as she grabs the stool from underneath the computer that’s hooked up to the side of John’s machine. “Alright—go wash your hands, use the hand sanitizer, and then sit down _here_.”

                Dean watches as Sam does as he’s told, and then excitedly sits down on the stool, poising his hand just outside of the plastic-covered opening to the case.

                “Now—just be gentle, and maybe let your hand hover inside there for a minute or two before you touch him … just so it has a chance to warm up.”

                Sam nods and then looks away from the doctor, focusing all his concentration on maneuvering his hand inside the incubator. After a minute, he slowly lowers his fingers to John—holding his breath the entire time.

                Dean is holding his breath too—as if everything in the world hinges on this moment; and he knows that everything in _Sam’s_ world, probably does.

                “Oh my god” Sam whispers, just as John’s tiny hand touches his. “Oh my god … _Dean_ , I’m a daddy!” Tears are dripping down Sam’s face and Dean cries more of his own.

                “Damn right you are, Sammy.” He steps to his brother’s side and puts his hand on Sam’s shoulder, careful not to jostle him too much.

                “You should say something to him. It’s always good for them to hear their father’s voice” Dr. Ming says, soon stepping away to leave them to it.

                Sam nods again but he doesn’t take his eyes off of his son. “Hey, John … it’s me … It's your daddy.”

                The baby twitches slightly and both Dean and Sam inhale a gallon of air.

                “I think he recognizes you!” Dean chirps with excitement.

                “Ya think?” Sam asks—the same amount of elation in his own voice.

                “Yeah, he totally does. Say something else!”

                Sam grins and then presses his face closer to the opening so that John can really hear him. “Your mommy and I love you so much, kiddo. You have no idea _how much_. We can’t wait until you’re all better and we can take you home.” Sam’s voice cracks and he drops his head—chest bouncing with his quiet cries.

                Dean squeezes his shoulder and then bends down to hug him. “He’ll be home before ya know it, Sammy. You’ll see.”

                “Yeah …” Sam whispers, words strangled and wet, “yeah, I know.”

 

                They sit there for a while longer—Sam, telling John all about his mommy, what she looks like, how beautiful she is; and Dean—standing right behind him, patting his brother’s back and hoping that he knows just how proud he makes him.

                “Mr. Winchester …” Dr. Ming appears once more at their sides, pulling their attention reluctantly away from John, “your wife is awake and asking for you.”

                “Oh, okay … yeah—yeah, I’ll be right there.” Sam takes a deep breath and then looks back at his son. “Okay, John. I gotta go tell your mommy all about you, okay? I want her to know what a strong, little guy you are. She’s going to be so happy!” He breathes in deep again and then rubs his finger along John’s tiny wrist. “I love you, kiddo. I’ll be back soon, okay? Keep getting stronger … you’re doin’ great, son. I’m _so_ proud of you.” It takes him another few seconds, but Sam finally pulls his hand away and stands up off the stool.

                Dean takes a step backwards to make room, but still keeps his hand on Sam’s shoulder—feeling very protective of him all of a sudden, as if letting go means he might just disappear.

                Sam continues to stare down at John, his frame tall and stiff— _determined_. “Will you stay with him?”

                Dean’s hand finally falls away, because all of his muscles instantly turn to mush. “What?”

                “Can you stay here with him? I need to go see Jess, but I don’t want John to be alone.”

                Dean’s heart is a rock in his chest. “I— _uh_ …”

                “ _Please_ ” Sam turns and finally looks him in the eye, giving him his best puppy-face while clasping his hands together. “He needs to get to know his uncle anyway.”

                “Well …” Dean grunts, knowing that he can’t really say _no_ —but he’s terrified. He has a long track record of fucking things up, and he wouldn’t put it past himself to do the same thing here.

                “Please, Dean.”

                Dean bites his lip but then nods. “Yeah, sure—of course. Go. Tell your wife all about your son. It’ll make her day.”

                “Thank you!” Sam yips, throwing his long arms around Dean’s neck. “Thank you for everything. _Really_ —I’d be so lost if you weren’t here.”

                Dean closes his eyes and smiles before hugging Sam back, hoping that the guy can’t somehow sense his panic. “Alright, alright— _go on_. Get outta here!” he says, finally letting go and shoving Sam away.

                “Yeah, okay …” Sam turns back to the incubator and ducks down to look inside one more time. “John, your Uncle Dean is going to stay with you, alright? Be nice to him—okay?”

                Dean smiles and shakes his head as Sam stands back up and gives him a small wave, then—he’s turning towards the door and jogging away, excited and ecstatic that he gets to go tell his wife some good news for a change.

                “If you want to hold his hand, you need to wash yours” Dr. Ming says as soon as Sam is out of the room.

                Dean turns and looks her over, stammering on how to respond to that. “I— _uh_ —I don’t think I should …”

                “Contact is contact. Babies respond well to any when they’re in this condition, and if you are going to be around while he’s growing up, you should probably establish that contact now.”

                Dean peers back at the tiny baby in the incubator—he looks so fragile, so breakable—and Dean’s hands have broken so much in the past … none of this seems like a good idea.

                “I’ll be right here. Nothing is going to happen” Dr. Ming ensures, as if she is reading Dean’s mind.

                “ _Uh_ —yeah, okay.”

                In a few minutes, Dean’s hands are washed and sanitized, and he’s sitting himself down on the stool where Sam just was—and with a deep, deep breath, he slips his hand inside the incubator. The air inside is warm, and it makes his cold hand tingle; so he waits a moment to let it heat up, just like Dr. Ming said to do before. After probably longer than necessary, Dean slowly drops his index finger to the tiny hand that’s resting atop the soft white sheet. Then his eyes travel up the thin, pink limb—stopping on the long needle jutting from John’s tiny arm, and he’s surprised he’s only noticing it now. He feels his gut stab with empathy, because that must've  _hurt_ … he hates needles; especially now that they’re sticking out of his infant nephew.

                “ _Jeez_ —I’m sorry about all this, kid” he whispers, faintly tracing the little guy’s wrist. “You’re in this world for two seconds and they’re already jabbin’ ya with things. It ain’t fair.”

                John’s closed eyes squint a little tighter, and it makes his small face scrunch and wrinkle.

                Dean chuckles. “Yeah—I figured you wouldn’t be a fan of that.” He sighs and then rests his hand on top of the wrap of blankets covering up the baby’s middle. John’s face relaxes and Dean relaxes some too. “But, just so you know—it won’t be like this forever. There are a lot of _great_ things about being born. There’s food … and there’s toys. And you get to listen to music … even though there’s a bunch of crappy music out there, I’ll make sure you’re listening to the good stuff. Don’t ya worry about that.” Dean smiles to himself, thinking how John will be the only kid in school who knows all the lyrics to every Zeppelin song. “Plus, _there’s cars_ —I’ll teach you about those too. Your dad can teach you about all the other stuff in life, but _I’ll_ teach you about cars. How to fix ‘em … what to look for when things go wrong. These little hands of yours will be building engines in no time.”

                A monitor over his head starts to beep and Dean pulls back, frantic and looking around for Dr. Ming to help.

                _Shit!_

_What did I do?_

                The doctor is standing right behind him, smiling as she reaches for the side of the machine and presses something to silence it. “It’s just letting me know that one of his medications is getting low. It’s alright.”

                Dean swallows his heart back down to its rightful spot before he nods. “Okay … _okay_ ” he gasps, trying to stop the tears that are all ready to fall. With a few blinks, he turns back to look at John—soon laying his hand on top of the infant’s once more. “You’ll be out of here soon, kid. I promise … you’re a Winchester, and if there’s anything we know how to do, it’s get out of places we don’t wanna be.” He laughs to himself before he remembers the last time he did just that, which of course—reminds him of _who_ he ended up meeting because of it.  His head droops and a few of those tears sneak their way out in spite of it all. “If you’re lucky …” he whispers—thumb rubbing over that brand new, soft pink skin, “after you get out of here, you’ll never have to run from anything ever again.”

                John’s small hand flinches—fingers splaying out wide before finally latching onto Dean’s, squeezing the tip of one as hard as he can and refusing to let go.

                Light and warmth breaks through Dean’s face in a grin—and he sits up straighter as he peers into the incubator at that determined, little face.  “You’re gonna make it, kid … I’m so proud of you. You’re gonna make it.”


	24. The Forgotten

                “ _I swear_ —then he opened his eyes and he looked _right_ at me, Dean! He looked right at me like he was telling me that everything was gonna be fine. I think I cried for a good half hour but I don’t care!”

                Dean is grinning ear to ear as he watches his baby brother go on and on about his son and how much better he’s been doing. It’s a whole different scene from what it was earlier in the week—when they sat in this same booth, both exhausted and starved and barely able to function. Now, it seems like there might actually be a light at the end of the tunnel. John is making leaps and bounds in his healing—enough that the doctors think that they’ll only need to implant a couple of stents rather than keep him ready for a full transplant. Plus, Jess has been feeling a lot better too—enough that she might be able to go to the NICU soon. Her parents got into town a few days before and that brightened her mood, but of course, hearing that her son is improving helped her turn around the most. Dean is beside himself.

_Finally … something good._

Sam grins wider as he finally stops to take a breath. “Sorry, I’ve been talking a lot.”

Dean just laughs as he takes another bite of his burger—two patties, courtesy of Hal, in celebration of John’s improvement.  _The man knows how to cook a burger._ “Don’t apologize, Sammy. Seriously, I could listen to this all day. It’s about time we had something nice to talk about.”

The younger Winchester’s smile dulls slightly as he looks down at his plate and picks through his salad with his fork. “Yeah … well …”

Dean stops chewing, not liking his brother’s sudden change in tone “What?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask …” Sam peeks back at him, giving him that _we-need-to-talk_ look that Dean always dreads.

“ _What_?” Dean asks again, amazed that Sam really wants to focus on _him_ right now— especially with everything else he has going on.

“Well … you haven’t mentioned Cas since you’ve got here.”

“ _Ah_ , Sam …” Dean plops back against the cushion of the booth, looking around them for some way to escape. He _really_ doesn’t want to talk about this right now.

“Did something happen with you two? I haven’t seen you calling him or texting him, or _anything_ … and, like I just said—you haven’t even said his name.”

Dean sighs before he finally shrugs—figuring it’s time for some evasive maneuvers. “Well, there _have_ been a lot more important things to talk about.”

Sam shifts awkwardly in his seat and nods. “I know, but—”

“And you haven’t seen me every second of every day, dude. You’ve been busy with Jessica and John.”

“So, does that mean you _have_ called him?” Sam asks, eyes squinting with skepticism.

“Yeah—I called him” Dean says flatly, because well … _he has._ He just didn’t actually _talk_ to the guy, but Sam doesn’t need to know that.

“Okay …” Sam mutters, still not sounding convinced, “so, there’s nothing going on with you two?”

Dean almost laughs at the irony of that statement. _No, there’s absolutely nothing going on. I thought there was, but no … nothing at all apparently._ “No, Sam. Nothing.” Dean leans forward once more and picks up his burger, taking another large bite so he can come off as nonchalant. “Besides” he mumbles with his mouth full “how can I get a word in when all you talk about is your perfect, little family?”

Sam smiles largely once again, eyes wandering far off to chase his mind. “They _are_ perfect, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, Sammy” Dean laughs, swallowing down the tinge of jealousy he feels along with that last bite, “they certainly are.”

***

                He had run over to Sam’s and Jess’s house to pick up some much needed supplies. Sam had been borrowing scrubs for the past week, and the nurses are finally starting to tire of it—so Dean offered to go and get some of his brother’s things since Sam refused to leave the hospital, even for a second. But when he walked into their bedroom to grab the stuff he was told to pack, Dean wasn’t expecting what he saw.

                The dried blood practically covered all the sheets, which were ripped away from the mattress and knotted at the base of the bed.

                Red handprints were on the end tables, the door handles, smeared across the wall—and Dean could barely keep himself upright when he saw the one on the dresser— the size of his brother’s hand, planted just below the framed picture of their mom.

                For a second, he wondered why Sam didn’t warn him about all this … but then he realized, the guy probably wasn’t even aware of how bad it looked. It was obvious they tore out in a hurry in order to get Jess to the hospital. Assessing the disarray had to be very low on their list of priorities.

                Yet, no matter how much it made him ill, Dean knew he couldn’t just leave it the way it was—so soon, he had a load of laundry going—heavy on the bleach with an extra-long cycle so the sheets really had a chance to soak. Then, he got out all the spray cleaners he could find, testing them one by one to see which could get the blood off of the varying surfaces. After about an hour, and a lot of sweat and elbow grease, Dean finally had the place looking more like a _home_ and less like the scene of a homicide.

                “Never make it easy for me—do ya, Sammy?” Dean mutters to himself, wiping his brow with the back of his hand; but just as he tosses the soiled paper towel into the trash, he hears his phone chirp with a new text.

                Dean’s heart cartwheels across his lungs, and he practically rips the pocket of his jeans trying to fish the damn thing out. He hasn’t gotten a text in weeks. The only people he knows who actually _want_ to talk to him— _call him._  No one ever texts, unless Dean texted them first.

 It’s a slim hope, but it’s hope all the same.

  _Maybe Cas would be too nervous to call._

_Maybe he thinks a text would be safer._

Dean illuminates his phone, eyes scanning the screen excitedly.

“Can you grab an extra toothbrush? – Sam”

Dean’s insides hollow.

He screams—throwing his phone as hard as he can across the room, wincing when it smashes and shatters against the wall. “Fuck!” Dean yells immediately, stomping over to look at the new dent in his brother’s plaster, along with his newly broken phone now lying on the floor. “ _Fuck_ ” he says again, kneeling down to pick up each piece. He presses the center button below the cracked glass, but nothing happens. He presses the power button, but still—the screen is black. “God damnit” he mutters, rolling his eyes at himself.

This is _just_ what he needed … a busted phone on top of a busted heart.

_Pathetic. I’m fucking pathetic._

                He sits himself down on the floor and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hand.

                _When did I start losing it over dudes? I should fucking kick myself in the balls ... if I even have any left to kick … fuck, fucking stupid._

The house phone rings and it pulls him out of the spiraling thoughts. Dean groans, dropping his cell back on the ground before reluctantly yanking himself to his feet and stumbling over to the phone that’s sitting on one of the nightstands. “Hello?” he says, probably a little more roughly than needed, especially since he’s answering at someone else’s house.

                “Hey, it’s me” Sam says, and Dean’s shoulders relax a bit. “I sent you a text, and then I called but it went straight to voicemail. Did your phone die or something?”

                Dean looks back at the busted thing on the carpet. “No, I just dropped it. It’s completely wrecked.”

                “From dropping it? You sure the battery didn’t just jostle loose?”

                Dean snorts. “I _uh_ — accidentally stepped on it _after_ I dropped it.”

                “Oh, that sucks.”

                “Tell me 'bout it” Dean mutters, kicking at the bed post with his foot.

                “Well, anyway—I was just gonna ask you to grab some of Jess’s things too. When I told her that you were at our house, she gave me a list.”

                Dean sighs, still not over how he just fucked up his phone. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”

                “Sorry, I know I’m asking a lot.”

                “No—no, it’s fine. Really, I just feel stupid … what do ya need?” Dean wanders into the kitchen to find a pen, because as Sam begins to go down the list—he realizes he’ll need to make one of his own. Besides, this is probably good … something to keep him busy. Something to keep his mind off of things—things like _Cas_ and how he just ran off on him. How there haven’t been any calls or texts, or even a fucking smoke signal to explain _why_. How there definitely won’t be any calls now.

                _Yes … busy is good._

***

                “What do you mean _she wants to see me_?”

                Sam smiles and punches Dean playfully in the arm. “Just what I said, dude. Jess wants to talk with you, and that’s easier if you’re in the same room as her.”

                Dean shoves his hands into his pockets and looks to his feet, flaring out his nostrils with the idea of standing in front of Jessica again. “I dunno, man.”

                Sam groans. “Come on, Dean! I told you a million times, she’s not actually mad at you! That was a shitty, shitty day and you just walked right into the middle of the shit storm. She just wants to apologize—in person. Face to face.”

                Dean nods but still doesn’t lift his head.

                With another groan, Sam throws his arm around Dean’s neck and starts to yank him down the hall. “Seriously, Dean … she just wants to talk. Besides, she still can’t really get up yet so as long as you stay an arm’s length away, she can’t strangle you.”

                That finally gets Dean to look, annoyed by his brother’s smug smirk when he does. “Very funny.”

                “I thought so” Sam yips, tugging at Dean a little harder.

                Soon enough, they are down at the other end of the short hall and standing in front of Jessica’s room, and Dean never could say before that he was absolutely terrified of a five foot five, tiny blonde girl—but he’s thinking, now is a good time to start.

                “Go on, I’ll be out here” Sam says, shoving Dean towards the door.

                “You’re not coming in there with me?” Dean yelps, turning back, hoping that this is another one of his brother’s bad jokes.

                Sam shakes his head. “Nope. She said she wanted to talk with you alone. If I didn’t know you were so into dick, I’d actually be kind of worried about the whole thing.”

                Dean wheels around and socks his brother in the chest, but it doesn’t keep the kid from laughing hysterically.

                “Hit me all ya want, but you’re still going in there!” Sam chuckles, rubbing at the now sore spot on his chest.

                “ _Fine_. But if she kills me, you better take care of my car.”

                “I’ll make sure to run her through the gas station’s car wash at least once a month.”

                Dean’s blood runs cold. “Oh hell no! Those things chip the paint! You know that!”

                Sam is buckling in the middle and slapping his knees. “I was kidding! Jeez, you’re so easy today!”

                Dean swats the kid on the head before turning back towards the door. “Yeah, well—if she _does_ kill me, I’m gonna haunt the hell outta you.”

                “ _Uh-huh_ ” Sam chuckles some more, finally righting himself and patting Dean on the back. “Come and find me when you’re done … ghost or not.”

                Dean attempts to punch him again, but Sam is already dodging it and bouncing back down the hall. “Bitch” he whispers, rolling his eyes in the moose’s direction. But soon enough, he misses the annoying company of his brother, because it was at least a distraction. Now, all he has left is this door—and he can’t necessarily stand outside it forever. With a deep breath, he puts his fingers on the handle and pushes it down, finally moving into the dim room on the other side.

                “Hey, Dean” Jess’s voice calls out softly, before Dean even has a chance to fully step inside.

                Dean freezes. He can’t even _see_ the girl yet. “How’d ya know it was me?” he asks, shutting the door behind him and then moving around the curtain that’s pulled in front of the bed. As soon as he sees Jessica’s beautiful, smiling face—he relaxes some. _She looks like herself again_ , albeit—a little thinner.  A little more tired.

                “I could hear you and Sam outside.”

                Dean’s neck catches fire with embarrassment. “Oh … sorry about that.”

                She just smiles brighter and then points to a spot on the floor. “If you stand there, I won’t be able to choke you, but we can still have a nice chat.”

                Dean’s face is soon catching fire too. “ _Heh_ —funny girl.”

                “I have my moments” she laughs, quickly waving him forward.

                Dean takes a few steps closer, shoving his hands back into his pockets as he moves.

                “ _Dean_ …” Jess mutters, her voice dropping into someplace sad, “please, don’t be nervous. I’m so sorry I yelled at you before.”

                “It’s—”

                Jess’s hand flies up and stops him from continuing. “No, it’s _not_ okay. All of this … this all just … _really freaking_   _sucked_. There’s no better way to put it.”

                Dean can’t help but smile a little, because she’s right.

                “But even though it sucked … _still kinda does_ … that doesn’t mean I get to take it out on people who don’t deserve it, and you _didn’t_ deserve it, Dean.”

                He is swaying from foot to foot and doing his best to avoid Jessica’s gaze, but soon—Dean sees her outstretched hand reaching towards him. Nervously, he pulls one of his own hands free and slips it into hers—nearly melting with her soft touch.

                “Sam has been telling me about everything you’ve been doing for him … _and_ for John. I can’t tell you how much that means to me, Dean.”

                Dean shrugs slightly as blush rushes over his cheeks. “I’m not really doing anything.”

                Jess squeezes his hand and then tugs him closer. “ _Uh-uh!_ Don’t you downplay it! Making sure Sam eats? Running our errands? Keeping John company? My mom even said that you sat with her for two hours and explained things the other day.”

                Dean laughs—because _he_ wasn’t really the one doing the explaining. When Jessica’s parents got into town, Dean was the one who met them downstairs and brought them up—and after they visited with Jess for a while, he showed them to the cafeteria. And her mom kind of hijacked him once they got there, and then proceeded to talk his ear off about their entire family history and how all of this is sadly, _pretty common_ when it comes to the Moore women. Dean was only able to add in what he saw since he’s been here—but _hey,_ if Jess’s mom considered that “helpful” who is he to argue? “Well, I’m happy to do whatever I can” he replies, squeezing her hand back and finally looking her in the eye.

                “You’re doing _a lot._ Really, we wouldn’t have gotten this far without you.” Jess reaches over and puts her other hand on top of his—and for a few moments, they just look at one another, giving the air just a little more time to clear. Eventually however, Jess sighs and pats Dean’s wrist—pulling her hands away shortly afterwards. “So …” she says pleasantly, adopting that chit-chatty tone that Dean always pretends to hate.

                “ _So_ …” he mimics, looking at her curiously.

                “Do you want to see some pictures?”

                Dean’s face scrunches up at that. “Pictures?”

                “Of John!” Jess says excitedly, twisting around and reaching underneath her pillow a second later. In a breath, she is turning back—a thick, yellow envelope in her hand. “Sam took pictures and got them developed for me. He knows how much I hate just looking at a phone. I like the _real_ thing—things that I can frame.”

                Dean grins, loving the way Jessica’s face is lighting up—it’s the same way his mother’s used to every time she started working on her albums. “Yeah, I like those too.”

                Soon, the envelope is set aside and giant stack of photos is resting on the woman’s lap, and Dean looks down to see the familiar scene of John in his incubator.

                “When did Sam take all these?” Dean asks, picking up part of the stack and looking at it closely.

                Jessica does the same, her obvious happiness, warming up the room. “A few days ago. There really aren’t that many, but I told him to get triple copies so I could give some to my parents and then still have extras for myself.”

                Dean nods, seeing now that he’s looking at the same image over and over with every one he flips through.

                “Although, he sorta just took the same picture from the same angle every time, anyway—so there’s really not much of a difference; but I don’t care. Isn’t John beautiful?”  She holds up one of the pictures that is fairly similar to the one Dean is looking at now—the positioning just might be slightly different.

                “He really is—he gets that from _you_.”

                “I know” Jess hums, grinning and bouncing a little as she sits on the bed.

                With a chuckle, Dean continues to thumb through the photos, smiling contentedly with each one he looks at. Even though they all are pretty much the same, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of looking at that face. He’s so enamored in fact, that it isn’t until he goes through another fifteen pictures that he realizes that Jess is staring at him. He pauses what he’s doing and looks up at her. “What?” he asks, feeling nervous all over again.

                “I … I need to tell you something” she says, picking at the edge of one of the photos, making it seem like _she’s_ nervous too.

                Which of course, only makes things worse for Dean. “What is it?”

                Jess fidgets some more and then looks down at the stack, pulling a portion out from the bottom. “Sam—well, he used _your_ camera to take these.”

                “My camer—” Dean freezes, suddenly realizing what Jess is talking about.

                “Yeah—he found it in that bag you let him borrow, and he was just trying to do something nice for me. He wasn’t really thinking about it, and I guess he just assumed you wouldn’t mind … and well, it wasn’t until he got the pictures developed that he considered how you might feel … and …”

                “He _saw_ them?” Dean asks— his voice shaking and low.

                “Yeah … we both did. I’m really sorry, Dean. We weren’t trying to invade your privacy or anything. It was an honest screw up. _Really_.” With that, Jess shuffles through to the bottom of her stack before pulling out a several photos and handing them over to Dean—hovering there a moment as Dean hesitates to take them. Jess pulls her lips into a thin, apologetic smile. “He’s really cute. I can see why you like him.”

                Dean feels like every blood vessel in his body has turned to led. He doesn’t want to look down. He doesn’t want to see those eyes. Not now.

                But Jess finally reaches out with her other hand to lift his—making him grab the photos and finally hold them for himself.

                Defeated, Dean wills himself to peer below, seeing his own smiling face staring back at him—along with two, bright blue eyes, a gummy grin and wind blown hair that he can still feel on his fingertips if he just stops and thinks about it long enough. A rattled breath rolls up his throat as he slowly flips to the next photo. Again, he sees his own face—but this time it’s alone, if he doesn’t count the stone one in the background, looking as if Dean’s finger is up its nose.

                “I like that one” Jess offers meagerly, tapping at the edge of the photo and drawing Dean’s focus back to her. “It makes me laugh.”

                Dean can only nod before looking back down and flipping through to the next image. It’s the one he took of him and Cas kissing. The angle is weird and half of his face is cut off, but it’s still all there—what he used to have, if only for a moment.

                “What happened, Dean?”

                Dean jerks his head back up, clearing his throat as he gawks at Jess. “ _Nothing_ —nothing happened. Who said anything happened?”

                “ _Uh_ —you’re face” she says, with a bit of a playful attitude, which Dean knows is her attempt to break the tension, but he still can’t help but be annoyed by it.

                “I’m fine. My face is fine.”

                “Dean …”

                “Thanks for the pictures. I’m sure … I’m sure Cas will be happy to see them.” Dean barely gets the words out without his voice breaking.

                “Dean, stop.” The attitude has left her now, and the _mom-tone_ has moved in; and Dean wonders how Jess got it down so quickly.

                He drops his hand to his side so the pictures are out of view, and he stares at the wall across the room instead. It takes him some time, but eventually—he finds himself talking, and he’s not even sure of what he’s trying to say, just that he _needs_ to say it. “He left me. I just woke up—and there was a note, and he was gone.”

                Jessica leans back with a quiet gasp. “Really?”

                Dean nods. “I don’t know what I did. We were so …” he lifts up the pictures to emphasize his point, “I thought we were good, ya know? He seemed happy.”

                “You _both_ looked happy.”

                Dean nods again before lulling his chin to his chest. “He just wrote _I’m sorry_ and then bolted.”

                Jess’s hand is quickly holding his once more and tugging him down so he can sit on the edge of her hospital bed. “Did you try to go after him?”

                Dean shakes his head, relieved that at very least, he doesn’t have to look into Jess’s eyes anymore—and having her arms around him is actually, pretty nice. He feels safe. “I couldn’t … that’s when Sam called.”

                “Oh, Dean—I’m so sorry.”

                “No, no … I mean, I needed to be here. No matter what, I was always going to be here for when John was born. I just—I kinda thought that maybe …”

                “Maybe Cas would come with you?”

                Dean nods, trying his best to swallow the lump in his throat.

                Jessica hugs him tighter and then leans her head on his shoulder. “Have you tried calling him?”

                “His phone is off.” Dean _had_ tried a few more times after the first. He still didn’t leave any messages, but now the thing won’t even ring.

                “Well … you’ll just have to go there” Jess says, as if it’s the next logical step.

                “What?” Dean yelps, pulling away and twisting around so he can look at her. “I can’t just _go there._ ”

                “Why not?” Jessica asks with a shrug.

                “Because!” Dean yelps, poised to spout off all the reasons, but nothing apparent is coming to mind.

                “Oh, well in _that_ case …” Jess rambles sarcastically.

                Dean flaps his mouth some more, finally remembering where he is and why. “Because _you_ and Sam and the baby need my help! You even said so earlier!”

                Jessica chuckles and shakes her head at him, reaching out and pulling him towards her again. “I said …” she begins, wrapping her arms back around his broad shoulders, “that I was thankful for all the help you have _already_ given us; but I didn’t say that we needed more.”

                “But …”

                “And now my parents are here, and my mom has been trying to do everything for me anyway. I swear, if she could lactate, she’d try to feed John herself!”

                Dean grimaces with that very unpleasant image. “ _Ew_ , okay … gross.”

                Jessica only laughs before planting a kiss on Dean’s cheek. “My point _is_ , you don’t need to stick around to wait on us. We’re not out of the woods yet, but we’re getting there. So … you should go and at least find out what happened. I’m not saying it will change anything, but … at least you’d know.”

                Dean shrinks, slumping back against the pillows, causing Jessica to slump back with him. Her giggle is warm and infectious, and soon—he finds he’s smiling too. “You really think I should go?”

                Jessica relaxes against his side and nuzzles her chin against his arm. “I think you’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t.”

                With a sigh, Dean bends down and kisses the girl on the top of her head, shifting around shortly after—feeling more comfortable than he has in over a week. “Yeah …” he whispers, clutching Jessica’s fingers in his hand, “yeah, you’re right.”


	25. Answers

                The hospital disappears in his rearview, and for the first time since he’s had to meet that awful place years and years ago—he is a little sad to see it gone; because at least _there_ , information was being delivered. Even in the moments of panic, someone was working to fix things. If he wanted answers, he just had to find someone with a name tag and they would tell him. It was cut and dry, black and white and the end result was always that he knew generally what was going on.

                But that won’t be the case where he’s going. There is no team of doctors on the ready to fix all this … whatever _this_ is. It’s all up to _him,_ and fuck if he knows what he’s actually going to do. _Yes_ , he has some things he wants to say to Cas—he has some questions, and he has a heavy load of _pissed off_ that he wants to hand the guy, but he doesn’t know _how_.

                Dean finally looks away and back towards the road—turning up the radio as he tries not to think about the trip ahead—or Huntsville, or who all lives there. He tries not to think about what this will all become once he gets there and says his piece. He tries not to think about what Cas will say back … _there’s no point_ , because with every inch he moves forward, he breaks in half a mile more. He’ll be _nothing_ by the time he passes that “Welcome” sign.

                He’ll be nothing and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it.

***

                It took him nearly six hours to make the at most,  three hour drive. Every rest stop or gas station along the way had to be visited—at least, that’s what Dean told himself. When he finally pulled into Huntsville, Baby was brimming with fast food containers and candy wrappers and random souvenirs from towns that he didn’t give a shit about; but it was all a nice distraction. He’ll dump everything somewhere on his way back to Lawrence, but for now—he’s having a fun time elbowing the giant sombrero with “Missouri City” written on the brim, out of the way so he can still freely turn the steering wheel.

                _Why a giant sombrero?_

                Who the hell knows, but it was just ridiculous enough that he had to buy it so he could ponder just how ridiculous it is for the rest of the drive.

                But soon, the thing becomes more of a hassle than its worth and eventually, it slides down off the pile of bags in his passenger seat and falls to the floor, damn near slipping its way beneath the gas pedal.

                “For fuck’s sake!” Dean grumbles, giving up and finally pulling to the side of the street so he can toss all this recently purchased crap into the back. 

                A few people walking on the sidewalk give him a strange look when he wrestles his car into park, but Dean ignores them. People in this town were always too nosy for his liking anyway. With another grunt, he pops open his door and hauls himself out—slamming it as hard as he can after that so the spectators get scared off. An old couple that are sitting on the bench outside of the deli, jump with the noise, and soon—they’re scurrying away too. Satisfied, Dean stomps around to the passenger side so he can begin moving all his distractions to the back; but just as he bends down into the car to grab a few of the bags, something catches his eye on the other side of the road—a familiar, pear-shaped mass that makes his spine ache with chills, while also igniting his skin with rage.

                “That _bitch_ ” Dean growls, yanking himself back out of the car and slamming the other door even harder than the first.

                He doesn’t allow himself time to think about it or even the chance to work out what he’s going to say—he just charges forward, across the street and right up to the one person who started this hell he’s now living in.

                “ _Hey!_ ” Dean booms, storming ahead so he can plant himself directly in front of Mrs. Mason—bustling down the street with two arms full of groceries. “I need to talk to you!”

                The woman looks surprised by the interruption to her day, but then—horribly disappointed with the person who’s causing it. “Oh for heaven’s sake—I thought we were rid of _you!_ ”

                “You certainly tried to make that happen, didn’t ya?” Dean spits back, towering over the woman in a way that he knows probably looks very bad to anyone passing by.

                “What are you talkin' about, boy?”

                Dean laughs dryly and rolls his eyes. “Like _you_ don’t know?”

                The woman heaves a decrepit sigh, as if this is all such a giant waste of her time, she can’t even fathom how it’s even actually happening. “I can’t say that I do, so if you don’t mind movin' out of my—”

                “The phone calls!” Dean shouts, throwing his hands up in the air and glaring down at that wrinkly forehead, feeling more motivated with each new wrinkle that appears.

                “Phone calls?” Mrs. Mason parrots back—but her words are exhausted and bored.

                “To Cas! Jesus fucking Christ, don’t play dumb with me! You’re a lot of things, lady—a bitch, nosy as all hell, and a giant fuckin’ homophobe, but I _know_ you ain’t dumb!”

                Mrs. Mason’s mouth falls open with shock; but in the time that it takes Dean to inhale another breath, the woman seems to grow three times her natural size—and Dean suddenly feels very very small, and slightly regretful of what he had just said. “Look here, _child_ … I don’t know if you were dropped on your head as young’un, or if you're sufferin’ from some sort of illness, but ‘round here … children show their elders some respect!” The woman’s eyes flicker with fire and it leaves Dean speechless. “Honestly, just attackin’ an old woman on the side of the street! Who ever heard—” Mrs. Mason then fusses with the bags in her arms as she continues to mumble to herself, “I honestly don’t know what Castiel ever saw in you. You’re ruder than a deranged raccoon!”

                “Now _wait a minute_ …” Dean finally manages, shuffling in place and looking around them to see if anyone is staring. Thankfully, there doesn’t seem to be anyone else outside, although he’s sure there are people looking out from the shop windows—not missing a second of this very entertaining show. He finally turns back to the woman in front of him; but for whatever reason, his anger towards her slips away as soon as he sees her. Now, he’s just _tired_ … tired and confused. He just wants to know _why_ —why all of this is happening. Why she had to ruin everything for him. He doesn’t want to yell anymore, he just wants to _know_. “I … look, I’m sorry okay? But all I know is—Cas and I were happy and then … _you_ call him a couple hundred times and then he’s just _gone_. I just want to know why you did it? Why couldn’t you just leave him alone?”

                Mrs. Mason slowly peers back at Dean, and for once, instead of detest or pure hatred—he sees a different expression on her face … maybe, _confusion?_ “Leave him alone?”

                “Yeah!” Dean yelps, feeling too wary to be spelling all this out for her. “I mean, I know you’re not cool with him being _gay_ and everything, and I’m not lookin’ to change your mind about all that; but obviously you’re not going to ‘fix’ him, so why couldn’t you just leave him alone? He was happy with me … I mean, he’s a grown ass man and he should know better than to listen to other people regarding his relationships, and I’ll have to talk to him about that later … but _still_ , you didn’t have to mess with his head. He needed to get away from this place for a while and I was helping him do that. Don’t you think he deserves some time off? I know you care about him, so why can’t you just let him have some peace?”

                The old woman just continues to stare at him for a long while—long enough that Dean starts to feel awkward, so he shoves his hands back into his pockets and looks over towards his baby on the other side of the street—wondering if he should just walk away now and leave her to her groceries.

                After all, he’s said what he wanted to say to this woman, _so why not?_

                “You think …” Mrs. Mason begins, slowly and barely above a whisper, “you think I was callin' him because I didn’t _approve_ of the two of you living in sin?”

                Dean scoffs. “ _Uh_ … _yeah._ What? Am I wrong?”

                Mrs. Mason laughs, but it’s not at all a joyous sound. “Oh— _well_ , I must say … I knew you weren’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but I could’ve never imagined … I mean, _honestly_. You think pretty highly of yourself, don’t you?”

                Dean gawks at her—not liking that _he’s_ now the confused one. He’s not liking it at all.

                “I have given up on that boy coming back to the path of righteousness a long, long time ago. He’s as stubborn as his mother was, and no amount of prayin’ is gonna save him.”

                Dean scrunches his face together, attempting to figure out what this woman is getting at. “If … if you weren’t calling about _that_ , then … _why_ …?”

                “My goodness, boy! I called him because of the responsibilities he just up and ran out on! I swear, did those even cross your mind before you whisked him away?”

                Dean slouches, feeling completely knocked down by this turn in the tide. “Wh—what responsibilities?”

                Now it’s Mrs. Mason’s turn to gawk. “What do you mean: _what responsibilities?_ With his father, you dunce!”

                “His …?”

                And that’s when the old woman seems to morph, changing from the wicked witch of the Midwest, into something somewhat similar to _human._ The flames in her eyes snuff out and leave a smoky blue peeking out from behind the coals. Her wrinkled skin softens and pinks—leaving her looking less like a corpse and more like someone’s grandmother … someone _kind_. “You don’t have a clue about anything, do you?” she says after a few moments, but her tone isn’t condescending anymore—it’s just full of pity.

                Dean can only stand there, helpless and lost.

                “Come over here—sit down.” Mrs. Mason bustles by him and walks to a nearby bench—setting down her groceries with a groan. After she’s unburdened, she turns and plops herself down too, eventually looking up towards Dean and nodding for him to join her.

                Hesitantly, he does—sitting on the other end of the seat, just about as far away as he can manage.

                “What has Castiel told you about his parents?”

                Dean is avoiding the woman’s eyes, staring at a crack in the sidewalk—secretly wishing for it to break open wide and swallow him up. “ _Um_ … not much. I just know that his mom is dead and his dad is in a nursing home or something.”

                Mrs. Mason snickers sadly. “Well, I suppose I can’t be surprised. Sometimes it takes pliers to pry that boy’s mouth open.”

                Dean remains motionless, not saying a word and still not looking to the strange woman sitting at his side.

                “Charles Shurley, or _Chuck_ to most folks ‘round here, is a wonderful, wonderful man—or at least, _he was_ … before his mind started to go.”

                Dean furrows his brow and finally thinks to say something. “Who is—”

                “Chuck is Castiel’s father. I understand your confusion … usually the children would share their _father’s_ last name, but when Christine and Chuck got pregnant with Gabriel, they decided to go against tradition and use _her_ maiden name. Maybe it was because the name _Novak was already_ so important around these parts, or maybe Chuck just hated the idea of passin’ on the name ‘ _Shurley’_ to his kids—who knows. No one questioned them on it … not _those_ folks. They were too important to this town. People loved ‘em.”

                Dean wants to ask what all this has to do with anything, but he doesn’t—because he’s too eager to finally be getting some information on Castiel’s secretive past.

                “Christine—Castiel’s mother, was the ‘heiress’ so to say, to the big shipping corporation up north. They employed just about everyone from here to Indiana. Then Chuck and Christine married and opened the factory which pulled this town up from the gutter. It _still_ is Huntsville's main source of income, but Chuck sold most of the company off after he lost Christine. Anyway, the Novaks were mighty generous—every function, every fundraiser, every single part of the community was funded by their family and that factory of theirs. So—when Christine was murdered, it hit the town hard.”

                Dean sits up straighter and finally turns to look at the woman. “Murdered?”

                Mrs. Mason just frowns deeper. “You really _are_ a clueless one, aren’t ya?” She sighs and then looks up at the sky—squinting as the sun peeks out from behind a cloud. “She was killed by an ex-employee of hers. She had to let him go the week before—she was real broken up about it to because her and her family had known the man for years. They used to invite him over for dinner; he’d play cards with her father back when _he_ was still the boss; but, not long after Christine and Chuck built the new factory— and a bunch of the workers transferred to it, including _that man_ , his performance started slippin’. He was always late, he didn’t finish his work and soon—the factory was suffering because of it. Christine hated havin’ to do it, but she had no other choice. Toby Wilkins— _the man_ … he was awful cross, and people saw him drinkin’ in the bar every night after he was fired. Christine wanted to fix it though, so she arranged to meet with Toby … she thought that maybe … maybe there could be another place for him at the factory, somethin’ with a bit more flexibility or different hours and what not. So, one afternoon, after she picked up Castiel from school, she went back to the factory to meet up with Wilkens. She stood outside and waited for him. Castiel was waitin’ inside—doing homework or somethin’ like that; but then he heard his mother scream. He went running out and saw Toby punch her… he knocked her to the ground and then dragged her to his car and threw her inside. Castiel tried to catch him, but he didn’t get there in time and Toby was already racin’ away.”

                Dean is stone, immovable and cold—just staring at Mrs. Mason as her mouth continues to move.

                “The poor child was only fifteen. _Fifteen years old_ —and to _see_ his mother …” Mrs. Mason’s voice cracks and she shakes her head. “My heart broke for him. He was absolutely hysterical for the next three days—until they found her.”

                Dean tries to breathe but he can’t.

                “Her body was mangled beyond recognition … there were signs that Toby … that he—that he _had his way_ with her. Then he beat her and finally cut her throat before he killed himself. The man was _deranged_. No one would’ve ever guessed it. He used to be such an upstanding fella … then he turned into a monster.”

                “Oh _god_ ” Dean whispers, suddenly understanding _why_ Cas never spoke of all this. _How could he?_

                “Once they found her, Castiel went quiet. He didn’t speak for months, other than to tell his father he was sorry—over and over again, that’s all he said. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ I tried to tell him that it wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t have stopped it, but he didn’t listen to me. Chuck was very quiet too—he and Castiel are very similar in that way, _always have been_ ; but once he lost his Christine, he was even more so. God bless him, though—he never took out his heartache on his children. Some people can’t handle seein’ their babies after losing their spouse, but Charles Joseph Shurley wasn’t one of ‘em. He treated those young’uns more sweetly than ever—even when Gabriel went and broke just about every law in this town, and even after Castiel began … _well_ , let’s just say—the boy got _friendly_ with just about every young man he came across. Anyhow … I was amazed at how that family attempted to heal. I did whatever I could to help ‘em get through it, but really—they pulled _themselves_ back up by their bootstraps. True angels, every one of ‘em”

                Dean does his best to digest it all, trying to fit all these new pieces into the image of Cas that he already has in his mind. In some ways, it makes the image clearer, but in others—it’s still all just a blur.

                “It wasn’t too long after Christine was killed that Gabriel left … he’s Castiel’s and Anna’s older brother. He was always bound to run off anyway, but his mother being taken from him was what finally pushed him to go. He was eighteen when she died, and nineteen when he skipped town the first time. It was such a shame too … he and Cas used to be so close; but _after_ – Gabriel blamed his brother for what happened. It ruined their relationship. And _sure_ , Gabe would come back every now and then, usually when he was broke, but he and Cas never spoke when he did. Not for Castiel’s lack of tryin’. I watched that poor boy do _everything_ he could to get back on his brother’s good side. He even switched jobs to try and be closer to Gabriel; but of course—Gabriel didn’t come back after that.”

                “Cas started working at Lew’s … to be _close_ to his brother?” Dean asks, because that’s not how Cas explained it at all.

                Mrs. Mason only nods. “ _Mhm_ … Gabriel was working with Lew for a little while, mainly to save up money so he could up and leave again; but one day—he didn’t show. Lew was callin’ all around to try n’ see where he was, because that boy may’ve been a hoodlum, but he was a hard worker and never missed a day he was scheduled, so Lew was worried. He finally ended up calling Castiel and—Castiel being _Castiel_ , offered to look for his brother. That’s when we found out that he’d run off again. I suppose Cas felt bad for Lew and offered to help out, but then he ended up likin’ the job. So he left the accounting firm that he was workin’ at and started full time at the auto shop. I asked him ‘bout it once, and he went on and on ‘bout how fun it was to get to use his hands all the time, but in the middle of all his excitement, he accidentally let it slip that he couldn’t wait to work on a car with his brother. Even _years_ later, I think he still hopes that that will happen someday. _Poor thing_ … but I think Gabe is gone for good this time.”

                With a nod, Dean runs his hands up and down his legs, feeling very anxious all of a sudden—anxious to talk to Cas again, to tell him that he understands why leaving was hard … but he waits, having a feeling that he still doesn’t know the whole story yet. “So—is that why you called him? So he could come back and work with Lew? He had it all worked out with him, ya know? He told him he was leaving.”

                Mrs. Mason grimaces in his direction but she doesn’t bother lifting her head to look him in the eye. “No, ya fool. I called him because his father was having another episode and Castiel is the only one who can calm him down.”

                “ _Episode_?”

                “Oh good gracious—keep up, boy! Yes! I told you, Chuck’s mind started to give out ‘bout six years ago. Well—things got bad very quickly for him. At first, he’d just forget his appointments or lose his keys all the time. But then, he began forgettin’ his children’s names. Finally, it was the day he woke up, askin’ for Christine and sayin’ that he had to get dressed for their wedding that I knew somethin’ was really wrong. I was still his housekeeper at the time. I ran my inn as well, but I just couldn’t leave that family—not after everything they’ve been through. And of course, God must have a plan for them, but … I admit, I think he’s being _a touch_ cruel with how much he’s makin’ them work for it.”

                The old woman closes her eyes, as if she’s willing away a tear, and Dean actually feels sorry for her.

                “I had just started cleanin’ up  in the kitchen when Chuck came runnin’ down the stairs. He was half dressed in his nicest suit, all in a panic—sayin’ he was late for his wedding. I tried to calm him down, tell him that he was just confused because his wedding was over twenty five years ago, but then he got really angry. He didn’t even know who I was! He shoved me down and went runnin’ through the house—screamin’ for Christine. I just thank _God_ that Anna was in Paris at the time, and Cas was at work. They didn’t need to see their father in that condition. It wasn’t long after that though that Chuck was moved to the facility he’s in now.  But he kept havin’ meltdowns after he got there—until _Castiel_ came to visit him. For whatever reason, he remembered his boy, and Cas talked him off the ledge. Cas _always_ calms him—he keeps Chuck in the present, and helps him remember who he is and _where_. But … _this last time_ , when he began to lose it, Castiel wasn’t around … he wasn’t _here_ … but there _was_ this useless, little note saying that he left town with _you_ ” Mrs. Mason slits her eyes open and glares at Dean, making him have to turn away in shame. “The note said to call Anna instead, which _they did_ —but when Anna showed up, Chuck thought she was Christine _…_ and he tried to kiss her. The poor girl was traumatized. She called me and I rushed over and attempted to talk to the man, but once again—he didn’t know me from Adam, so that was absolutely no help. The only person on God’s green earth that could get through to him, was off gallivantin' around with his … _boyfriend. You see,_ I _had_ to call him. I had to get Castiel back here. The nurses sedated Chuck, but they couldn’t keep him that way forever. This family has already been through enough, and I wish it wasn’t the case—but Castiel is the _only_ one who can keep it from falling apart completely. He was ignorin’ that fact by running off with ya; but I had to remind him. I _had_ to.”

                The breeze picks up and swirls the dusty air around them, and Dean takes a long breath—letting the grit dry his throat. He then looks down at the wood planks of the bench. The grain is sun bleached and weathered—the knots hold a history in their rings that he could never imagine knowing, and he realizes now that Castiel is the same way. Dean had only ever seen the outside of the man—his long branches and beautiful leaves, but to really know him deeper, he’d have to had cut him open, sand him down, shape him, and Dean knows he wouldn’t have wanted to do that.

_Castiel deserves better._

                A hand reaches out and pats his arm, and when Dean looks up again, he sees Mrs. Mason’s eyes on him—drooping lids barely covering her sympathy. “I’m sorry that things are the way they are, son … but you _have to_ let Castiel take care of his responsibilities. Too much ‘round here depends on him. That’s just the way it is.”

                Dean nods sadly as he lowers his head once more, not knowing any words to say – thinking that none would do anyway.

                “Well …” Mrs. Mason hums quietly, finally pulling her fingers back and resting them on her own lap, “I need to be goin’. I’m sure my milk is probably soured by now.”

                Dean keeps his head down but nods again. “Yeah … okay.”

                After a soft sigh, Mrs. Mason takes another moment to settle. “You take care, Mr. Winchester” she says—the nicest thing she has ever left him with, before hoisting herself up and collecting the bags in her arms once more. And then, she continues making her way down East Austin Street, in the direction of the inn, as if the conversation had never happened at all—as if she didn’t just leave a man balanced on his own head.

                Dean watches her from the corner of his eye, suddenly wishing that that mean old woman would turn back around and sit with him for a little longer— _just for a moment._

                This street feels too lonely now.


	26. Between the Dust

                Dean sits on the curb with a water bottle in his hand and his duffle bag resting beside him on the cement. There’s not much in it—some clothes, his toothbrush and the envelope with the photos that Sam had unknowingly developed. He has no earthly idea what he’s planning to do now but he wants to be ready for anything. Thinking about it all however, is making him dizzy and slightly delirious, so he grabbed one of the bottles of water he got while driving here, and then he sat himself down on this curb … this curb that’s right across the street from Lew’s auto shop.

                He can see the old man bustling around inside. He’s helping a customer look over an old part— _looks like a piece of a clutch_ but Dean can’t be sure from this far away. _The bushings probably wore down_ he thinks, and he starts going through the list of options that _he_ would be telling that customer if he were Lew. It’s easier to think about clutch replacements than it is to think about what he would say to Cas if he was standing in front of him now. So Dean just sits and stares, and tries to not feel so helpless.

 

                The quiet tow truck is parked at the far right of the shop—a sleeping beast of rust and chains. The faded blue and red paint keeps catching Dean’s eye and pulling him back to that moment weeks and weeks ago, when Cas first appeared on the side of that highway. He rumbled into Dean’s life in a swirl of dust and shined shoes; and Dean was so thrown by the man—he may as well have flown over his head using giant wings.   _A tow truck driver wearing fancy clothes_ … it was so ridiculous, _still is_ ; but Dean is anything _but_ put off by the thought now. Now—it’s something warm and comfortable. It’s a soft image in his mind, tan and faded like an old photograph that’s seen too much sun. He wants to go back in time and live it all over again. Watch himself fumble and stutter, and he’d laugh at his past-self because he knows how clueless he was. _That_ _Dean_ who ignored his own beautiful car when she was in need … _that Dean_ who was stuck in the middle of nowhere, cussing himself blue along the side of the road— _that Dean_ who was lucky enough to fuck up on the same route that Castiel Novak just happened to be driving home … _that_ _Dean_ had no idea what he was about to get into, but _current Dean_ does, and _he_ wants to replay it all—second by second; because up until Cas left him alone in that motel room, he had never felt more alive.

                And he misses that feeling.

                He misses it so much it makes him sick.

                “What am I gonna do?” he mutters, shaking his head at himself and squinting against the sun. _Yeah_ , he could go inside, find Cas and talk to him; but what if the guy doesn’t want to talk? Or _worse_ , what if _he does_ —but only to tell Dean that it’s over? Dean really doesn’t want to cry in the middle of Lew’s garage, but he thinks he just might if Cas decides to officially break up with him. It’d be even worse if Jeffery was there. Although, it might be nice to finally _clock_ the guy … because he’d probably go and say something snarky and Dean would actually have a reason to ... a reason _other_ than him being far too pretty to be working with Castiel. The thought of punching the crap out that attractive mechanic makes Dean smile and feel a little less queasy.  “It’d serve him right” he grumbles, as if someone is actually around to hear him.

                But soon, the sound of a squeaky hinge pulls him from his own thoughts, and he looks over just in time to see Castiel climbing up into the tow truck. Something in his chest compresses, and Dean nearly passes out from the lack of air, but then—the door to the truck closes again, shutting Castiel inside and Dean knows what’s coming next: the roar of the engine, the truck backing up and then rattling down the road, taking Castiel far away; driving him out of Dean’s life for good.

                He _can’t_ let that happen.

 _Oxygen be damned_ —he needs to catch him!

                The water bottle is quickly dropped and the duffle bag, _forgotten_ —because Dean is running as fast as he can across the street. The tow truck begins to move, but Dean leaps at it like a cat on a mouse—grabbing the handle beside the door, holding onto side view mirror with his other hand so he doesn’t fall off. At first, Cas doesn’t notice him, but the second those blue eyes turn to check for clearance in the mirror, the man gasps so loud that Dean can hear him over the truck’s grunting diesel.

                “ _Dean?_ ” Cas yelps, smashing his foot on the breaks and it almost knocks Dean off.

                “Open up!” Dean garbles, feeling very stupid now for latching onto the side of a moving vehicle, like some fucking deranged Spiderman.

                “What in the world are you doing?” Cas barks even louder, but his bite is still muffled by the glass and the metal.

                “Open up so we can talk!” Dean barks back, getting frustrated more and more by the scene they’re causing; but thankfully—a quick look around shows that no one else appears to be watching them, at least, not that he can see.

                “This is highly inappropriate!” Cas bellows through the window now, looking angrier and angrier by the second.

                “That’s why I want you to get out here so we can talk normally!”

                “You jumped onto my truck!”

                “Just get out here, damnit!”

                "I have a job to do!"

                "C'mon, Cas!"

                “ _Ah!_ ” Cas growls in frustration, but he finally throws the truck into park before ramming his shoulder into the door, knocking it open and knocking Dean off the side.

                Dean stumbles as soon as he hits the pavement but thankfully he doesn’t fall on his ass. By the time he steadies himself, Castiel is hopping out—looking very good while doing so—and if Dean wasn’t so damn irritated and hurt and saddened by all of this, he’d push the guy right up against that faded logo and kiss him until he could barely breathe.

                “I can’t believe you did that!” Cas scolds, pulling his hands up onto those pristinely dressed hips—glaring at Dean as if he were some naughty child.

                Dean swallows hard, not knowing which of his many emotions to go with first. “And _I_ can’t believe you just abandoned me in South Dakota!”

 _Apparently_ , he’s starting with anger _._

                Castiel’s face changes with that and Dean instantly regrets his words. “I’m … I’m sorry. I didn’t  know how to tell you … I shouldn’t have—”

                Dean sighs and quickly steps in closer. “Cas, _no_ … don’t, okay? I—I spoke to Mrs. Mason and she explained everything to me and … I _get it_. I get why you had to come back. I just wish—”

                “You spoke to Maggie?” Cas’s tone is furious again. “What did she say?”

                Dean teeters backwards because he can’t tell who Cas is mad at anymore, but just in case it’s _him_ , he wants to keep his distance. “ _Um_ … she—she told me about your mom.”

                Castiel’s eyes go wide, but his jaw is still as rigid as his body. “She had no right to tell you that!”

                “She … she felt bad that I didn’t know, I guess” Dean stutters, momentarily wondering how he got to the point where he is now defending mean old Maggie Mason, but Castiel’s rage doesn’t allow him to ponder it for long.

                “That doesn’t give her the right to discuss _my family_ with _you!_ ”

                Confused, Dean hazards to ask. “ _Wait_ … are you mad that she _talked_ about it, or are you mad that _I know?_ ”

                “ _Both!_ ” Cas booms, throwing out his hand as if he wants to take a swing at him.

                “Why? Why can’t I know?” Dean asks shakily, honestly—surprised by the outburst because it just doesn’t seem like the _Cas_ he knows … but then again, maybe he doesn’t really know anything at all.

                Castiel shrinks down once more and finally looks away, apparently not wanting to tell Dean the reason, just as much as he didn’t want to tell him anything else.

                “ _Cas_ ” Dean whispers, hesitantly stepping in again, reaching out to grab the man’s hand, but Castiel doesn’t allow for it.

                “ _Don’t_ ” he mutters—his voice low and sad, about as much as it is, _angry_.

                “ _Why?_ ” Dean asks again, pleading for purpose here. “ _Please_ , Cas … just tell me _why?_ We were doing so good … I thought you were really happy, and then I wake up and you’re just _gone_ , and I try to call but your phone is off, and now I’m _here_ and you don’t even  want to look at me! I just need to know …”

                “I’m sorry, Dean” Cas whispers another time, still with his eyes set on the ground.

                “You don’t have to be sorry, man … just _tell me!_ Do you think that I wouldn’t get it? _I do!_ I understand fucked up family shit more than anyone! I just— _I get it_. I get why you didn’t want to talk about it. What happened with you mom was _awful_. I can’t even imagine … and then, to have your dad freak out like that, I –”

                “She told you about my father too?” Cas jumps in, looking back at him now—but once again, his eyes are cold and fierce.

                _Shit_. “ _Uh_ … yeah.”

                Cas pans to the distance, pained before smiling manically, and it makes him seem evil and so unlike himself, that Dean kind of wants to run away. “That’s just _wonderful!_ That woman has her nose so far in everyone else’s business, I’m surprised she can even breathe!”

                “She just thought I should know, man” Dean defends, really wanting Castiel to calm down.

                But Castiel’s wicked smile only grows wider, baring his teeth as if he’s about ready to tear Dean’s throat out. “And _what_ exactly did she decide to share with you, _hm?_ Please—tell me so I can properly thank her!”

                Dean flaps his mouth a moment, not knowing where to start. Not knowing if even _wants_ to start. “Well, _uh_ … she … she _um,_ just said that she called you so much because _um—your_ dad was freakin’ out and … and you’re the only one who can calm him down. She said that Anna tried but … he doesn’t remember her like he does, _you_ —so you had to come back.”

                Castiel nods, huffing out a sarcastic laugh before he turns himself around and faces the truck. “That’s just _great_. Perfect, really. She decides it’s _her_ place to share details from my private life, even when she doesn’t know the whole story. Typical!” Cas punches the truck door with the side of his fist and it makes Dean jump. “At times, I _fucking hate_ this town.”

                “Cas … _c’mon”_ Dean whispers, feeling legitimately scared now. “I—I had to know eventually, right? I mean … people talk. You said that everyone here _talks._ I would've heard at some point, ya know ... since we’re … ” Dean almost chokes on the word, “ _together_.” He watches as Cas shoulders spike and then eventually slump, exhausted and worn down from fighting.

                "This is all so wrong.” Cas grunts after a long moment—eventually turning back around with a heavy sigh and staring at his own feet. “Very well, Dean—you want to know? Know the _whole_ story?”

                Dean nods at first and then says “Yes” out loud when Cas still refuses to look at him.

                The other man folds his arms tightly across his chest, barely holding himself together. “As I'm sure you know now, my mother was killed by a psychopath throwing a fit over a paycheck; but what no one ever seems to mention is that _I_ could have stopped him— I could have stayed outside with my mother but _no_ … _it was too hot outside_. I didn’t even want to be there and I complained about having to go with her the entire time. I wanted to go home, but my mother said she needed to meet with Wilkens; so I continued acting like a spoiled child until she finally allowed me to go sit in the front office where it was cooler. So I sat in there, pouting and bemoaning my sad situation when that man pulled up and struck my mother, and then dragged her into his car—bleeding and screaming.”

                It's astounding— Castiel looks so small right now, like the child he's chiding himself for being; and Dean wants nothing more than to hold him, but he stays still, deciding to speak instead. “None of that was your fault.”

                Those blues rock upwards, pelting him with an avalanche _offense_ and _hurt._ “Do you _honestly_ think he would have done any of that if I was standing beside her? Do you think he would have even _tried?_ ” Cas is leaning into Dean now—his words tumbling like boulders atop Dean’s head.

                “I … I don’t know. M-maybe?”

                “I was fifteen! I wasn’t some infant! I was almost the height I am now! I looked enough like a grown man that he probably would have kept on driving! He would have left her alone!”

                _“Or,_ he could have _killed_ _you_ right then and there” Dean says, quickly grimacing at himself because there’s no way that _that_ will help this situation.

                “Yes! Yes, he could have, but at least I would have _been there!_ Maybe while he was busy with me, my mother could have gotten away! Or she could have called for help or … or _something!_ I don’t know, but I could have been outside! I could have been there, but instead—I was feeling sorry for myself inside that factory while my mom’s life was literally being ripped apart!”

                Dean looks away, feeling ashamed, and he’s not sure if it’s in sympathy for Cas or if it’s for himself, but it’s overwhelming him all the same. “I’m sorry.”

                “For what?” Castiel roars, becoming crazed once again. “You haven’t even heard the best part yet!”

                Deans flinches as Castiel paces in front of him, biting at the wind.

                “It was bad enough that I was so selfish, I’d leave my mother alone with a lunatic, but I just couldn’t stop there! _Oh no!_ I then had to go on and become the town whore, which made my dad beam with pride, I'm sure! And then, when that man began losing his mind— I refrained from even visiting him! I told myself that he didn't need me there. That he was _just fine_. Then the facility called, saying that he was inconsolable and perhaps, a familiar face would do him some good. And oh, _it did_ ... he remembered me alright, and he thought I was still fourteen, which only made him panic all the more, wondering why his youngest child was wandering around that strange place without his mother. I tried to explain that I'm an adult, make him remember ... but he _just wouldn't be quiet._ So, do you want to know how I finally calmed my father down?  How I  _still_ calm him down? Everyone always seems to think it’s so sweet— _aw, his son can get through to him. Pull him out of his delusions._ _Ha!_ If only!” Cas spits, venom coating his tongue. “The only way that I have _ever_ found to make that man _shut up_ , is to tell him over and over again that his wife is dead!”

                Dean’s mouth drops open as he turns back to gawk at Castiel—who is now slowly backing away, the reality of his own world, pulling him in like a riptide.

                “And I can’t even stop _there_ ” Cas continues, his tone starting to shake his thoughts. “He’ll ask me _how—how did it happen?_ And I’ll have to tell him … over and over, I tell him the details, because my father—ever the engineer, _lives_ for details. So I begin with the _when_ …” the man finally pushes his back up against the truck and slides down the side, sitting himself on the step up to the door, “I tell him how I left her alone outside when Wilkens pulled up. Then I tell him what the police told _me_ … how he drove her to his family’s old hunting cabin … and he tied her up, and he raped her repeatedly. How he used various hunting tools to brutalize her, _knives_ and _wires_ … but he kept her alive for days. _Then_ I tell my father that after Wilkens was done mangling her body, he finally slit her throat. Then he stuck the barrel of a shotgun in his own mouth and took off half of his skull.” Castiel’s eyes are vacant as he swallows _guilt_ and _bile_ down and around his words. “And my father will cry, and then he’ll finally get very quiet … and _then_ he’ll ask me if his children know yet; because he’ll have already forgotten who I am by that point. So I will have to nod and tell him that _yes_ , they all know, and that will make him cry even more. And that’s when I get up and I walk out, because he won’t ask me anything else after that, he just gets quiet. He gets quiet and I leave.”

                “ _Jesus_ …” Dean whispers, feeling sick with the thought of _anyone_ having to go through all that. “Cas—Jesus Christ, that’s horrible!”

                But Castiel only shakes his head. “That’s just the thing …” he mutters, clasping his hands together until his knuckles go white. “It isn’t.”

                Dean can’t help but shut his eyes a moment, wrinkling his brow because he _had to have_ heard that wrong. “What?”

                “It _isn’t_ horrible.”

                Dean opens up again—really wishing he had something to sit down as well. He feels completely bowled over.

                “It should be though, shouldn’t it?” Castiel laughs dryly, like this all might actually be funny in some warped, parallel universe. “But, I found myself _enjoying_ telling him. I actually _enjoyed_ breaking my father’s heart. It was cathartic. The only moment I am able to control in this mess that I call my life. And now, I’m completely indifferent. I go there _once_ , _twice,_ sometimes _three_ times a week and I tell my father how the love of his life was tortured and defiled and then slaughtered like an animal, and it doesn’t faze me at all. I know that it should—I’m not an idiot, but _it doesn’t_. However, the fact that it doesn’t— _does_ faze me. I spend the days in between visits hating myself for being so cold. What kind of person am I to _not_ be hurt by that?” Castiel peers back up, as if he actually expects Dean to have an answer for him. “I mean … I _knew_ I was broken after my mom was murdered, but I didn’t know how much until then.”

                Dean shuffles in place, finally shoving his hands into his pockets—a meager attempt to collect himself enough to speak. “Cas … you’re not—you’re _not_ broken” he says, guiltily wondering if he actually believes that.

                Castiel chuckles harshly once more before plopping his head against the door and smiling towards the sky. “Yeah. _Okay_ …”

                “You’re not.”

                “Don’t try to rationalize this, Dean. I’ve tried for years to no avail.”

                “You’re not!” Dean yelps, more confidently because— _Cas can’t be._

                But the other man just nods, warming his tired face in the sun.  “I am. I have psychoanalyzed it and picked every detail apart—attempting to justify my behavior. The only half-baked conclusion I can come to is to ultimately blame my father. At one point, I figured that I probably enjoyed it all because, at least _now_ , he actually gives me a reaction when talking about my mother's death. He never did when I was younger. I apologized profusely for not protecting my mother, expecting him to finally crack and scream at me, or hit me ... _give me_ what I deserve; but he would just nod and pat me on the shoulder and then walk away. Or, he’d simply change the subject—so at least _now_ , he’ll cry and ask questions, and _be_ upset like he should have been back when it first happened. I suppose there is some credence in all that, but that still doesn’t explain why I feel _nothing_ towards his pain… I feel absolutely nothing when I’m there in front of him. I say those words and he just looks at me like I’m from another planet, and then I _break_ him … and when I walk away, I’m okay with that. How the _hell_ can I be okay with that?”

                “Wh—what else _can_ you be?” Dean asks, before he can even think about it. After all, _he’s_ been in those _no win_ situations before—those horrible moments when you see the train coming towards you, and there’s no time to move, so you just accept your fate. You detach yourself and _you accept it_.

_That’s what Cas had to do, right?_

                That’s what he has to do now. If he doesn’t, he wouldn’t be able to go on living.

                “I could act like a _human_ —I could care” Cas says plainly.

                “You _do_ care, Cas. You wouldn’t still be in this town if you didn’t.”

                Castiel scoffs, as if Dean is a giant moron for even talking right now. “I care about _Anna._ I care that when she tried to go there and calm our father down, he began groping her because he thought she was our mother! Anna doesn’t deserve to be put through that! She doesn’t know what I have to say to him to shut him up … no one does. I make sure of that.”

                “But how is that fair to _you?_ ” Dean wonders out loud—feeling badly for Anna of course, but … he’s here for _Cas_.

                “Who cares about what’s _fair to me?_ ” Cas bellows, yanking himself back to his feet in a flurry of rage. “None of this would be happening if I had just learned a long time ago that _I_  don’t matter!”

                “You do!” Dean argues, but somehow he knows that it’s pointless.

                “ _Oh please!_ I’m not being self-deprecating here, nor am I looking for you to come change my mind. I deal in _fact_ , Dean. You should know that by now. I am a thirty two years old, I drive a tow truck for a living and I take pleasure in destroying the already withered life of an old man!  And better yet, I have recently begun resenting my dead mother for always being the main focus in my life. _Tell me_ , how does that make me look? Is that the type of person that you want to be with? Honestly? Someone like _you_ … someone who still gets choked up when you think about your own deceased mother, or who can sound so proud of your father, even when you’re complaining about everything that he ever did? Someone who is obviously so  empathetic,  so  _normal,_ just can’t work with someone like me! I don’t know why you even tried!”

                Dean clenches his fists at his side as he feels his body run cold. “You _know_ why I tried.”

                But the other man only shakes his head. “I know you _think_ you care about me, Dean … but you don’t. You don’t even know who I am and you don’t _want_ to.”

                “Shouldn’t _I_ be the one to decide that?”

                “Obviously not.”

                Dean begins getting frustrated again—he hates when others speak for him, especially when they’re so wrong. “What the hell does _that_ mean?”

                Castiel narrows his eyes before tilting his head to the side, apparently wondering at Dean and all his peculiar ways. “It _means_ … you make bad choices” Castiel drones, sounding cold and strange, and completely foreign to Dean’s ears.  “You should have never come back here. You weren’t supposed to turn around, you weren’t supposed to stay … you weren’t supposed to want to be with me.” He takes a small step forward and steadies himself, allowing the blue to storm around Dean like a cloud of smoke. “I knew there had to be something wrong with you, and _this_ is it.”

                His chest is heaving—his heart, growing too heavy for his lungs to properly expand. Dean attempts to fight back the tears he feels brimming in his eyes, because—he’s too angry now to give Castiel that satisfaction. “I didn’t force you to be with me” Dean breathes, wincing as his voice breaks at the end.

                Castiel sighs, and he lifts his chin, making himself so proudly defiant—lifeless eyes gazing blankly over Dean’s face. “Yes, _well_ … like I said before … I’m _broken_. I obviously made a mistake.”

               

                It took all of his strength not to hit him, so instead Dean turned away and stormed back to his baby where she was parked around the corner—and in the matter of seconds, she was wailing down the road, kicking up enough dust that he couldn’t see the nicely dressed man that he was leaving behind.

                He couldn’t see him, and for the first time in a long time—Dean didn’t want to.

 


	27. Wars Won

                “Dean! Where the hell have you been?” Sam rushes him as soon as he steps out of the elevator.

                But his brother’s shrieking only makes Dean groan. “ _Nowhere_.”

                “Nowhere? What the hell, man? I’ve been calling you for days! Didn’t you get your phone fixed?”

                Dean shakes his head as he cringes against all of the hospital’s fluorescent lighting. “Why is it so bright in here?”

                Sam opens his mouth to answer but then stops, bending down a moment later to try and look Dean in the eye. “Are … are you seriously drunk right now?”

                “ _No_ , Sam! Jesus!” Dean grunts, swatting towards his brother’s face, trying to get him to back the hell off. “I _was_ drunk. There’s a difference.”

                “Oh, _well_ —that’s just great!” Sam hisses, tossing his arms in the air before turning his back on the wobbling Winchester. “I swear to God, Dean … I thought we were past this.”

                “Past _what?_ ” Dean mumbles, not even really caring because he sees the waiting room chairs sitting just past Sam’s lanky body, and he wants nothing more than to collapse into one.

               “Past this self-destructive stage! This was _you_ like five years ago—not _now!_ ”

                With a flippant wave, Dean slumps his way by Sam and finally sits himself down—smiling happily as he sinks into the warn, warped cushion. “What can I say, Sammy … _old habits_.” He’s soon closing his eyes—already feeling the sleep begin to darken his mind.

                “ _Wow_ …” Sam grunts even louder than before, and it makes Dean shiver once more into consciousness. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

                Annoyed, Dean lets out a heavy sigh. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

                “I thought that this time would be different … that _you_ would be different.  I really needed you, Dean. I’m scared out of my mind here. My wife is lying in a hospital bed, my kid just had surgery … and the only person I can count on is hungover and unreachable. It’s like dealing with dad all over again!”

                Dean’s eyes pop open, and for the first time since he stepped out of the elevator, he really _looks_ at Sam. The kid is even more disheveled than he was the night that John was born, and he looks like he’s on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Dean’s heart treads through the guilt now threatening to drown him from the inside out. “John had surgery? Why didn’t you tell me?” he finally yelps, yanking himself out of his seat so he can stand face to face with his brother.

                “ _I tried!_ That’s why I was trying to call you! But your phone is still busted and you’ve been _god_ - _knows_ - _where_ for the last three days! You said you’d call once you spoke with Cas, but then you were just _gone!_ ” Sam is yelling at the top of his lungs now—eliciting concerned looks from several of the nurses on the other end of the room. Sam puts up his hand and mutters “sorry” to them, yet—he’s sounding close to tears, and his fist is shaking like he wants to hit someone, and Dean knows— _it should be_ _him._

                “I … I’m sorry, Sam. I just … I needed to try n’ clear my head. I should’ve called though.”

                “Yeah, you _should_ have!” Sam growls, but then he slowly unclenches his fists and lets out an uneasy breath.

                Dean soon lets out his own. “So … is John okay?”

                Sam deflates even more. “Yeah … yeah, so far. His blood pressure dropped the day before yesterday and the doctors were freaking out, so they took him into emergency surgery and put in the stents.”

                “ _Shit_ … Sam, I—I’m sorry …” Dean is hating himself more and more. _I should’ve been here._

                “They were going to put them in anyway, but they wanted to wait until he was stronger … but when his stats dropped, they had to make the call. He made it, though … Jess was a wreck … she still hasn’t gotten to meet him. They don’t want her moving too much or else she’ll tear her sutures or something; but she was so scared … if John didn’t make it …” Sam’s voice breaks and he quickly covers his face with his hand.

                Dean wastes no time—wrapping his arms around his brother’s shoulders and steadying himself the moment Sam collapses into him, shaking and heaving with sobs.

                “He’s so small! He shouldn’t have to be going through this!”

                Dean runs his hand over the back of his brother’s head as he holds him tighter. “ _Shh_ … I know, but he’s tough, Sammy. He’s small but he’s kickin’ ass and takin’ names. He’s a fighter. He came out of that surgery swingin’ and he’s going to keep getting better and better. _You’ll see_.”

                Sam nods against Dean’s shoulder before finally wrapping his arms around him too; and for a while, they just stand there—clasped together like the links of a chain, getting stronger the longer they hold on.

                “It’ll all be okay, Sammy … he’s going to be fine.”

***

                He finally got Sam calmed down and perked up so he could go back to take care of his wife. Jessica had apparently developed a small infection and the meds they put her on are making her very restless—which certainly isn’t making any of this any easier. She _needs_ Sam, and Sam needs _him_ , and Dean needs to shape the fuck up and stop feeling sorry for himself.

                _So what?_

                Cas doesn’t care about him …

_It’s not the end of the world._

                _Yeah_ —Dean thought that maybe he … maybe he— he _really_ _liked_ the guy, but he can’t possibly feel that way anymore now that Cas kicked him to the curb … can he?

                He stomps into the nearest bathroom and locks the door, hoping that splashing some cold water on his face will help him get back to normal—but as soon as he turns around, the mirror shows a sorry sight.

                He looks like hell—which isn’t really surprising considering his life the last few days.

                There was the bar in Missouri City … and the _bartender_ in Missouri City. And then the sleeping in Baby’s backseat, which was a lot easier when he was a kid … but he’s a bit too big for it now. And then there was the pub in Shawnee. He really wishes he hadn’t have stopped _there_. Not only were the drinks overpriced for being so watered down, but the chick he ended up spending the night with took all the cash out of his wallet before she bolted. Dean also woke up with scratches down his back that are now itching like crazy … overall, _mistakes were made_ , and the worst one being that he wasn’t here for Sammy.

                This is _not_ how he should be handling this.

                He’s not going to be like his dad … he’s not going to bail just because the person he … _likes,_ isn’t around anymore. And he’s certainly not going to leave the people he loves behind to clean up his mess.

                He’s going to be different.

                He’s going to be better.

                Dean splashes some water on his face—washing away the _old-him_ for good.

_I’m not going to fall apart._

***

                He replaced his phone.

                He unpacked all of his stuff and took over Sam’s couch, but since the guy has been spending most of his nights at the hospital, Dean pretty much has the run of the house. It’s actually kind of nice—getting to be alone for a while … alone in a _home_ rather than a motel room. Dean soon found a routine that seemed to suit him. He’d wake up in the mornings, make some coffee and toast a bagel, then he’d take care of Sam and Jess’s errands— _whatever they might be_. He’d help pay the bills or mow the lawn, or go to the store if they were out of something. Then, he’d go out into the small garage where a lot of his things from his old shop were stored, and he would get to work fixing up Baby; not that she really needed much work, but if he looked hard enough, he could always find _something_ to replace or spruce up. Once that was done, he’d make up some lunch and take it to the hospital for Sam and Jess. The food there could leave much to be desired, especially if Susan and Diane were off; and Jessica swore the meals were making her heal more slowly. Once he checked in with them and left them sufficiently fed, he’d go and visit John. He started bringing in car magazines, reading about the new models or the old classics—like they were sweetest bedtime stories ever told. He could almost swear that John perked up as he read to him … and the nurses certainly seemed to think so too. They always enjoyed it when Dean stopped by, and they complimented him on his dedication.

                It felt good— having something to look forward to every day … having someone be happy that he’s there; even if that someone is only a tiny, skinny little infant with far too many tubes coming out of his small body; he still seemed to be better when Dean was nearby, and that’s all that he’s ever wanted … to be better for someone rather than be better without.

               

                It was about a week later, just after Dean had walked in with two bagged lunches—egg salad sandwiches and some homemade chocolate pudding (well, it was from a box but Sammy didn’t have to know that) that Sam nearly tackled him, talking a mile a minute like someone had just set fireworks off in his ass.

                “Woah! Hold on, what’s happening?” Dean shouts, doing his best to protect his gourmet lunches from this spontaneous moose attack.

                “They said she could go see him! They said she was healthy enough to see him!” Sam is jumping up and down—looking like he did the day their mom and dad finally agreed to let him get a dog. They agreed … but then it never actually happened.

                “Seriously? She can see John?” Dean is starting to jump too, completely forgetting about the pudding and the sandwiches because this was far more important.

                “Yes! They’re getting her ready now!” Sam sings, stopping his celebration a moment later so he can drag his brother down the hall. “Come on!”

                “ _Woah_ , Sam … it should just be the two of you in there, don’t ya think?” Dean says, pulling out of the other man’s clutches and taking a few steps back.

                Sam’s face quickly sours. “What? _No!_ You’re a part of this just as much as we are.”

                Dean has to laugh. “ _Uh_ , not to split hairs, Sammy—but I don’t think I was in the room when you two conceived that little guy.”

                “ _Ew_ , gross—no! You know what I mean, Dean! You’re a part of our lives … a part of our son’s life, and you should be there when his mother gets to hold him for the first time.”

                Dean opens his mouth to object again—all ready to say how Sam and Jess should really take this time for themselves, since they were robbed of it at the delivery; and how he wouldn’t have been in the room for that anyway, so why should he be in the room for it now? But then Sam takes one, large step towards him and puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

                “ _Dean_ … I told my son that you would be there for him, now and forever, just like you were for me. Don’t make me a liar.”

                Dean gawks, while having to choke down the giant lump that just leapt into his throat. He blinks a few times before he’s finally able to nod, smiling big and proud towards the best thing in his life—his best achievement. “Okay, Sammy … you win.”

***

                “How’s my hair? Is it okay?”

                “Babe, he’s a newborn … he won’t care about your hair.”

                The shocked and hurt look that Jess gives her husband almost makes Dean bust in half—but he holds back the laugh so she doesn’t turn it on him.

                “You look great, Jess. The most beautiful mom in this joint” Dean says, bending down to kiss Jessica on the top of her head.

                The girl beams at him from her wheelchair, quickly wrapping her arm around his waist to squeeze him tight. _“Thank you,_ Dean. At least _someone_ here knows how to treat a lady!” she snips, glaring at Sam from the corner of her eye.

                “Yeah, yeah … shall we?” Sam chuckles, ignoring the jab before stepping behind Jess’s wheelchair so he can push her towards the NICU.

                Jessica nods but Dean can see the humor leave her eyes, leaving just enough room for fear; and her hands begin shaking—which could be from the fact that this is the most energy she’s had to exert in a while, but he’s pretty sure, _this_ is all from nerves.

                “You’re gonna be fine … he’ll be so happy to see you” Dean whispers again, leaning down to rub her shoulder.

                Jess’s frail fingers slip over his and soon, they all begin to move forward; Sam—at his wife’s back and Dean, at her side—a small army of Winchesters, heading into battle.

 

                The NICU nurses all give Dean and Sam familiar smiles, but then—they turn curious when they see Jess wheeling in beside them.

                “You must be John’s mother” one of them says, smiling down at her once Sam gets them checked in.

                Jessica smiles back, but it’s stilted and small. “Yes … that’s me.”

                “Well …” the nurse continues, standing straighter before stretching out her arm. “The handsome, little man is right over here. I think you have quite the flirt on your hands. Every time I go to check his IV, he’s always trying to grab onto my finger.”

                “He gets that from his uncle … he knows how to sweep the ladies off their feet!” Dean boasts proudly.

                The nurse only laughs and rolls her eyes. “Yes, well—I have a feeling that _he_ comes by it naturally.”

                “Ouch, Melinda … you cut me deep!” Dean pokes. He likes her—she’s quick witted and doesn’t take any of his shit; but he soon quiets when he hears Jessica’s small gasp. He looks down just in time to see her eyes go wide when Sam pushes her closer to John’s incubator.

                “ _Oh my god_ ” Jess whispers, putting her hand on the plastic siding—her infant son, squirming just on the other side. “Oh my god— _Sam_ … Sam, he’s beautiful!” her voice cracks and the tears are soon streaming down her face.

                Dean wheels around and grabs some tissues off of one of the nurse’s table and gives Jessica a handful.

                She mouths _thank you_ but she doesn’t look away. She can’t.

                “Do you want to hold him?” Melinda asks, and all three sets of eyes snap to her in shock.

                “Is that okay?” Sam asks—breathless, like he’d just been running a mile.

                Melinda chuckles before nodding and turning once more to Jess. “John has been doing very, very well since the surgery. The doctors are pleased with his progress and they think that some skin to skin contact would do him a lot of good.”

                Jessica’s mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out and soon, her face scrunches together and she loses it completely.

                Sam is kneeling down beside her in an instant. “Babe? What’s wrong? This is a good thing! He’s doing so much better now. You get to hold him!”

                Jessica can only continue to cry, gasping loudly as she reaches out for her husband’s hand.

                “ _Babe?_ ” Sam tries again, holding onto her and rubbing her wrist, yet he still doesn’t receive an answer. He looks up at Dean and shrugs, and Dean can only shrug back.

                “ _Ugh_ — _boys_ ” Melinda mumbles under her breath—soon kneeling down herself and taking Jessica’s hand from Sam, gently clasping it into her own. “Mrs. Winchester” she begins, and Jess’s sobs slow before she finally peeks out at the woman in front of her. “This is a lot to hear all at once, isn’t it?” she asks—in a voice as soft as the baby blankets around her.

                Jessica’s face scrunches again and she nods—apparently trying her best not to break all the more.

                “ _Yeah_ … I’ve seen a lot of moms sit right where you are now, and it’s always overwhelming for them … the bad _and_ the good stuff. Both can just bowl you over if you’re not ready.”

                Jessica continues to nod, but this time—she can’t help but choke out another cry.

                “But what you’ve have to remember is that you’ve got a tiny, little life depending on you now. That little life will need to see you be _strong_ —he’s got to see how much of a fighter his mom is, so he knows how to be one too. After all, you have so many more amazing things ahead of you, and they will bowl you over just as hard … so this is a good time to get used to it.” Melinda rubs her thumbs over the Jess’s pale skin, and almost like magic—Jessica calms, taking several long, deep breaths before slowing her tears until they almost stop completely. “So …” the kind nurse lingers, finally pulling herself back to her feet—but she never lets go of Jess’s hands, “what do you say? Shall we get you ready to hold John?”

                The once frail woman seems to sit straighter, looking stronger and more fierce than she has in weeks. Jessica nods again— but this time, with confidence; and with a bright grin now blooming across her face. She looks back towards the incubator, smiling proudly at the baby inside. “Yes …” she says, lifting her chin in the air. “I want to hold my son”

 

                It took the nurses some time to prep Jessica—it’s a bit more difficult for someone who is hooked up to wound vacs and IVs, to get sanitized and properly prepped to hold a high-risk baby. Dean felt very awkward as the nurses fluttered around his sister-in-law, because they were pulling at her gown and trying to swab _this_ and wash _that_ —and he’s pretty sure he caught a glimpse of Jess’s boob, which felt all manners of wrong. Sam seemed just as uncomfortable though; but that was probably because he’s a hundred feet tall and was always in someone’s way. Finally, the two men found a corner of the room that was uninhabited enough that the nurses could finish—and after they pushed her back in front of John’s incubator, Jess was finally ready.

                “And you’re sure he’s strong enough for this?” she asks, just as Melinda opens up the side of the plastic box.

                “Yes—don’t worry. We’re all right here, ready to take over … just in case; but this will be good for him. Good for the _both of you._ ”

                Dean watches as Jessica swallows thickly, but then she squares her shoulders, sitting up straighter in her chair. “Okay. I’m ready.”

                “Alright— _John_ … we have someone here who wants to meet you” Melinda whispers, reaching in to pick up the wriggling, pink infant— and he lets out a little cry when her skin touches his. “ _Shh_ , _shh_ —it’s alright. I know, baby … _shh_ ” she coos, pulling him out and then holding him close. After she gently moves aside his IVs, letting another nurse free them from the side of the incubator, she takes a few small steps around the other side of the machine and stops in front of Jess.

                Sam slowly moves towards his wife, looking as if he’s waiting to breathe—and Dean can’t blame him, because _he’s_ doing the same thing.

                “Alright, John— _here_ … meet your mommy” and with that, Melinda bends down and places the baby boy into Jessica’s arms; and all at once, everyone in the room exhales.

                Except for Jessica, who’s breathing in deep and letting her light explode throughout the NICU.  She’s laughing—she’s laughing and crying, and practically singing all at once. The world appears perfect the second her son’s warmth mixes with her own, and Dean didn’t know when he started, but he’s crying now too. “Hi—hi, sweetheart!” Jessica gasps, sounding completely astounded by the life that she created. “You’re so beautiful! You’re so strong and beautiful!”

                “He is … _oh my god,_ he’s grown! He’s grown just since yesterday!” Sam whispers excitedly, leaning in to run his hand gently over his son’s head.

                “Babies tend to do that” Melinda chuckles, soon walking past him and patting Sam on the back. She then turns to Dean and tosses him a wink.

                “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe you’re here … my baby boy! My sweet, baby boy!” Jessica hums—smiling so big, it’s as if her cheeks may just cease to exist.

                “I know! Hey—hey, John! Hey, buddy! _It’s me,_ it’s your daddy” Sam beams, stroking John’s head once again.

                Just then, John lets out a small squeak and everyone in the room laughs and smiles, but Dean can still only stare—because this is the first time he’s really _seeing_ it— seeing that … Sam isn’t his baby brother anymore.

                He’s a husband, and a father—and a man all his own, and Dean is on the outside of everything.

 _Yes_ , he may be here, and Sam wants him to be a part of his son’s life, _and he will be_ ; but that doesn’t mean that he gets to be a part of _this._ This is something new and completely _not his._

                This is Sam’s family, and Dean couldn’t be more proud of his brother. But also … he couldn’t be more alone.

                “Dean.”

                His brother’s voice makes Dean jump.

                “Dean, come over here!” Sam says with a laugh.

                “Yeah, _Uncle_ —come here. You’re holding him after Sam does!” Jess adds in, rocking her baby back and forth as she hugs him to her chest.

                Dean smiles, but he doesn’t come any closer—instead, he takes a step back and shakes his head. “I—hold on, I— _uh_ , I’ll be right back.”

                Sam tries to call after him but Dean is already speeding out the door of the NICU and out into the hall.

                _It’s all too much—she’s a mom. A real mom._

She’s so complete now, and _so is Sam_. And now John knows what it’s like to be with a family; and now … Dean knows what it’s like to be without one.

                And the most terrifying part of all that is— _it’s freeing._

                Dean heads back to the maternity ward and into Jessica’s room—trying to find where Sam put it. It wasn’t in his bag when his brother gave it back to him, so that means that it has to be in _here_.

                His eyes light up when he finds it, and soon Dean is racing down the hall once again—a man on a mission and the NICU is his target.

                Sam’s eyes are full of concern when Dean finally comes back in, and Jess looks like she wants to ask—yet, she’s still too enthralled with her son to really justify a distraction.

                “ _Here_ ” Dean huffs, panting with his last few steps.

                Both Jess and Sam stare at him, confused—until they see what’s in his hand.

                “ _Aslan?_ ” Sam says, gawking down at the stuffed lion that Dean is now placing on Jess’s lap. “Dean … _no_ , you can’t.”

                Jessica looks down at it and then back up at Dean, nodding furiously to agree with her husband. “Yeah, that’s very sweet, Dean but _your mother_ gave that to you … you can’t—”

                “I can and I will” Dean interjects—speaking softly, and feeling more certain and calm about _this_ than he has with just about anything. Then, he bends down, kneeling onto the floor in front of Jessica’s wheelchair. “I want John to have it …” he peeks quickly at his little brother, who has brand new tears welling up in his eyes, “ _Mom_ would want him to have it.” Dean smiles again before slowly placing his hand over his nephew’s hand, and just like before—the little guy grabs his thumb with all his might. Dean chuckles. “ _Besides_ —I think it’s about time for me to let go.”


	28. Then and Now

                It was a whirlwind. John had to have a few more procedures, but none of them were too intense or invasive, and he came through them all beautifully. Jessica was healing at a good, steady pace now, but that was mostly in part to her new, good mood. Dean imagines—knowing that your baby will survive is probably the best _pick-me-up_ around. Really—everything was falling into place … and he has never been busier in his life.

                Once the doctors were satisfied with John’s stats, and once Jess was able to walk for an extended period of time without much discomfort, they were given a date of discharge; which was great news and all, but so much had to get done before then and— _Dean_ was really the only one who could do it all.

                Various monitors and medical supplies were sent home for both Jess and the baby—including the delivery of a hospital bed, so Jess could rest more comfortably once she was at home. Dean was the one in charge of setting all this up of course … which he wasn't complaining about, but it still wasn't easy. He was also trained on how to use just about everything, because—Sam would have to go back to work at some point and obviously Jess couldn't do it all herself,  so Dean put _himself_ in the role of in-home care person. Sam tried to talk him out of it … but then he realized how much cheaper this would be as opposed to hiring a nurse, and quickly let Dean win.

                 Jess had been reading a lot while she was bed-ridden, which also proved to make Dean’s life even more complicated than it already was, because she couldn’t be reading some _Twilight_ P.O.S  or _Fifty Shades of Crap_ — _oh no_ , she had to be reading things like “7 Easy Steps to Organic Living” and “Holistic Homes’; so Dean soon found himself driving around seven different counties just so he could buy some fancy, organic baby formula. And then he was set to work building planter boxers in the backyard so Jess could (eventually) grow vegetables to make baby food at home. Dean also cleaned their attic, washed their car— _fixed up their car_ … because … _well_ … _Sam was never gonna do it_ , and Dean sure as hell won’t have his fragile nephew riding around in a mid-sized death trap. So, all in all—Dean didn’t even notice when two more months had passed; and when the doctors finally said that Jess and John could go home, it was hard actually believing that it was time. He was exhausted and overworked, and _fuck_ … if he didn’t love every damn second of it.

                An exhausted mind doesn’t have the energy to think—to dwell.

                An exhausted mind eventually turns numb, and numbness is a glorious disease that spreads throughout the body if you care enough to let it.

                And Dean cared … he cared _a lot_.

***

                “I don’t understand why you need me to come back here so much.”

                “Mrs. Winchester, the damage that was done to your body can take quite a toll on your emotional state. It’s just common practice that we follow up that kind of trauma with long term counseling.”

                Jess crosses her arms and pouts in her wheelchair, and Doctor Ming just smiles at her before reaching out and putting her hand on her shoulder.

                “ _I know_ —there’s nothing more you want to do right now than go home and forget this place ever existed; but … we want to ensure that _you’re_ doing well just as much as we do, John. It’s important that you’re _both_ coming out of this healthy _and_ happy.”

                “I am happy though! There’s the door … I’m about to go through it and go home for the first time in months! I’m ecstatic!”

                “Then these check-ups should be short and sweet and soon you’ll be able to stop them altogether” the doctor says flatly. “If everything is truly fine, then there should be no harm in _making sure_ everything is fine.”

                Jessica huffs and mutters something to herself before she finally looks away.

                “ _Uh_ … sorry about her. She can get into moods” Sam offers, in what he must assume to be a whisper, but Dean knows better and he’s already giving a sympathy-flinch long before Jessica rips free an arm to pop her husband in the gut. “ _Ouch_!” Sam yelps, quickly stepping far away from her chair.

                “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here … and I’m _not_ in a mood!” Jessica hisses, turning away once again to refold her arms.

                Sam rubs his stomach a moment before slowly stepping back towards his wife—worried that she may strike again. “Sorry. Sorry … _my mistake_ ” he grumbles, side eyeing Dean with that desperate, _help-me_ look.

                Dean chuckles but decides he’ll give his brother a break. The poor guy is stressed out and with it being such a big day, everyone should be happy right now, not moody and getting gut-punched. “So …” he begins, pulling Jessica’s eyes up to him, and the anger around their edges starts to fade. At some point, Dean went from being her _scapegoat_ , to her _confidant_ and he can’t say that he minds it at all; although, he has a feeling Sammy does, “what outfit are you gonna put John in to take him home?”

                A small smile begins to lift the corners of Jess’s mouth like a curtain, and soon—there’s a fantastic display of motherly-excitement being showcased for all of them to see. “I’m thinking the grey one with the dark blue stripes on the shoulders … and the blue socks with the fish on the toes. I _love_ those socks, they’re _so_ tiny!”

                Dean grins. “Good choice. I’ll go grab ‘em and give it all to the nurses.”

                Jess grins back and uncurls her arms so she can stretch out and squeeze Dean’s hand. “Thank you, Dean.”

                “No problem. You just make sure you have everything ready so we can get outta here and get that kid into his new room.”

                The woman nods happily, squeezing his fingers even harder.

                “And … _I’ll_ go sign all the discharge papers” Sam adds, sounding as if he’s nervous to even speak.

                His voice seems to catch Jess off guard, but soon, she’s letting go of Dean so she can stop her husband before he leaves. “ _Babe_ …” she says, doe eyes blinking softly towards the tired man beside her, “we get to bring him home.”

                Sam smiles—muscles relaxing until he sinks down to her level, stopping once he meets her lips. “We get to bring him home” he repeats.

                “And … _I’ll_ be seeing you all again in two weeks for your check-ups” Doctor Ming clucks, bringing the love-fest to a quick and depressing close.

                “Yeah … _fine_ ” Jess grumbles, plopping her head against her husband’s in defeat.

                Sam shrugs before kissing her nose. “It’s just for now, babe.”

                “Yeah—just for now.”

                Dean slowly backs away and neither of them notices. So soon he’s turning around to go to the bag of baby clothes that he brought from the house the other day. He digs around a moment until he finds the outfit that Jessica wanted and then he makes his way towards the door.

                “We’ll meet you out there?”

                Jess’s voice stops him just before he turns the corner. Dean looks back at her with a smile. “Yeah.  I’ll meet you out there” he says gently, watching the woman and her husband nuzzle together once more, and feeling lucky that they even noticed he was about to walk out.

                Yet … he knows that once they get home and once their real lives begin, that will all change.

                _Dean knows_ … his role of importance is only temporary.

                _Just for now,_ he thinks—turning around the corner so he can walk down the hall.

_This is all just for now._

***

                Dean taps on the bathroom door with his knuckles. “Breakfast.”

                “What?” Sam sounds surprised on the other side.

                “Ya heard me.”

                The bathroom door swings open. “Yeah, Dean … I heard you, but I still don’t believe it.” The man has his chin raised in the air while his fingers mess with a tie around his neck.

                Dean just rolls his eyes and steps in, batting Sam’s hands away so _he_ can fix the tie instead. “I used to make breakfast for you all the time, why’re you actin’ so shocked?”

                Sam stands awkwardly as his brother continues to fuss over him. “ _Uh_ … you put out an assortment of cereals for me all the time … but it smells like bacon in here. So unless Kellogg’s started experimenting with new flavors, I don’t think that’s cereal.”

                The knot of the tie is all wrong so Dean unties it and starts it over again. “Yeah. It’s bacon n’ eggs, and some hashbrowns. No big deal.”

                “Seriously?”

                Dean nods and then grumbles at the tie. It’s cheap and doesn’t wrap right, and he makes a mental note to update his brother’s accessories. _He can’t be practicing law wearing two dollar ties._

                “I usually only ever get breakfast on Saturdays—when Jess and I are both off and we can sit around in the mornings. This … this is a nice surprise.”

                Dean tries to hold back his smile. “Yeah, yeah. No need to get all mushy about it. I just threw some shit in a pan.” He tosses the tie around itself and finally finishes the knot—straightening it out here and there until he’s satisfied. “ _There_ … now you should at least be able to pass as an adult.”

                Sam turns and looks at himself in the mirror, eventually giving his reflection an approving nod. “Yeah, I suppose so.” Then he’s bending in closer and running his hands through his hair, making sure all the long strands are lying smooth atop his goofy head.

                “Oh my god— _you’re pretty_ , okay? Now untwist your panties and get in the kitchen! Breakfast is getting cold.”

                Sam laughs but just continues to primp. “You’re such a good wife, Dean. I hope Jess doesn’t start to get jealous.”

                His brother is still chuckling when Dean grunts, turning around on his heels so he can softly stomp away. Jess and the baby are still asleep after all, so Dean doesn’t want to wake them up—no matter _how_ annoyed he is. “That’s it. I’m throwing your plate in the garbage.”

                “Alright, alright—comin’. _Jeez_ … someone needs their coffee.” Sam is soon bustling by him and sitting himself at one of the kitchen stools.

                “And someone needs their ass kicked by their older brother” Dean hisses, following close but walking around the other side of the thin counter so he can serve Sam his food.

                “ _Woah_ ” Sam gawks as soon as the plate is put in front of him. “This looks _good_ , Dean.”

                Dean turns away to pour two cups of coffee—one for him and one for the lanky lawyer behind him. “Damn right it does.”

                “ _Seriously_ …” forks _clank_ and lips _smack_ , and soon—Sam is moaning happily. “Oh, _mmm_ … tastes good too!” he mumbles around a large mouthful.

                Dean turns back and slides the cup of coffee towards him. “ _My god,_ you’re actin’ like you haven’t eaten in days. Slow down.”

                Sam sits straighter and sets down his fork, looking slightly scolded, and Dean feels a small bit of pride that he can still boss his baby brother around like this. “Sorry—sorry, you’re right. I’m just excited.”

                “Excited to be going back to work?” Dean asks incredulously—sipping his coffee as his eyebrows rise with the steam.

                “Yeah, man. I actually enjoy my job.”

                “You sit behind a desk and look at forms all day.”

                Sam rolls his eyes before picking up his mug and taking a long, slow swig. “That’s only part of it. Besides—it’ll be nice to finally get a paycheck again. Those medical bills are starting to come in and I’ve been too afraid to open ‘em.”

                Dean frowns against the ridge of his own coffee cup. “Yeah … _listen_ , I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. I’m gonna start lookin’ for work … so I can … ya know … _help out_.”

                Sam halts mid-sip—eyes dragging from his coffee and up to Dean. “Dean …” he starts, setting the cup down again slowly.

                Before he can go on, Dean holds up a hand. “Don’t try to talk me out of it, Sam. I need to work anyway. The money I had from selling shop is starting to run out and I don’t like bein’ a freeloader.” Then he pauses and waits for his brother’s lecture because he knows, no matter what he says—it’s going to happen anyway; but he’s a little surprised when Sam starts to laugh. “ _What_?”

                “You … _a freeloader?_ ”

                Dean steps backwards and leans himself against the kitchen sink. “ _Uh_ —yeah. I’m stayin’ on your couch, _rent-free_. I’m using your water, your electricity. I’m eatin’ your food –”

                “ _You_ bought the food, Dean.”

                Dean shakes his head before setting down his mug as well. “You know what I mean, Sam. I need to be useful.”

                More laughter fills up the kitchen, along with bits of egg and bacon that Sam accidently spits from his mouth.

                Dean scoffs at the mess and grabs the rag off the counter and chucks it at Sam’s face. “Cover your mouth!”

                “Sorry! Sorry …” Sam wheezes, taking the rag and wiping up the spittle. “It’s just—it’s _hilarious_.”

                Aggravated, Dean folds his arms across his chest. “What is?”

                “You not thinking you’re useful.”

                “Well …” Dean begins, but Sam's tone gets serious before he can even take a breath.

                “Well- _nothing_. Dean, what’re you doing today?”

                “ _Uh_ … takin’ Jessica to the hospital for her counseling appointment.”

                Sam nods and gives him that look—like Dean should already know what the hell he’s talking about. He _hates_ that look. “ _And_?”

                “And … watching John.”

                “And?”

                Dean is quickly getting even more annoyed by this game. “ _And_ … Jess needs ibuprofen and more sterile gauze, so I was gonna take her to the pharmacy after her appointment. And John needs more formula, so I need to head to Topeka once I drop them off at home.”

                “ _Exactly_.”

                “Exactly … _what_?”

                With a sigh, Sam slides off of the stool and then walks around the kitchen counter so he can stand in front of Dean. “How would all that get done if you weren’t here?”

                Dean can only shrug and look away, because this conversation is in danger of going into an _emotional- zone_ , and those zones always make him uneasy.  “ _You_ , I guess.”

                “ _I_ have to go to work. We could hire somebody, but we’re barely scrapin’ by as it is. With Jess on medical leave and with as much attention as John needs right now, _you_ are quite literally a life-saver. These past weeks … _months_ … we never would’ve got through it all if not for _you_. So—don’t you dare think you’re not being useful, because we’d be useless without you.” Sam is soon collecting him in a hug and Dean is no sooner trying to wriggle free.

                “ _Ah_ — _jeez_ , Sammy ... stop!”

                But Sam doesn’t let go. He just hugs him tighter until he’s practically lifting Dean off the ground.

                “Alright! _Alright_! Don’t you have a job to get to?”

                Sam finally releases him but he keeps his hands on Dean’s shoulders as he smiles and shakes him back and forth. “Yeah … I do … thanks to _you_.”

                “Oh my god, when did you get so sappy?”

                Sam beams at him and Dean smiles in spite of himself.

                “Finish your god damn eggs” he grumbles, trying his best to keep up his annoyance.

                His brother eventually nods and drops his hands so he can go back and sit down in front of his plate. And as he finishes his breakfast, going on and on about how excited he is that things are finally getting back to normal, Dean tries not to let on just how happy he is too … because he loves seeing his brother smile, and he loves being part of the reason behind it.

***

                “This is so dumb!”

                “It’s _not_ dumb … it’s only an hour long session. It’ll be done before ya know it.” Dean smiles as Jessica fumes in the passenger seat beside him

                “Easy for _you_ to say. You get to watch that little angel back there while _I_ have to go in and get my head shrunk.”

                Dean peeks into his rearview at John’s carseat in the back. All he can really see is the baby’s hand as it curls and uncurls in the air—grasping at all the little nothings that float on by. He smiles. “ _Yeah_ , I did get the better end of this deal, didn’t I?”

                Jess whips around and sets him with an angry glare. “Don’t gloat, Dean. It’s not attractive.”

                Dean laughs and then throws his arm around Jess’s shoulder, pulling her into his side so he can kiss her on the head. “It’s gonna be fine, okay? Just go in there, tell them that you have mommy-issues or daddy-issues, or _whatever_ , and then _they’ll_ be happy and _you’ll_ be happy, and then you’ll be done.”

                Jessica sighs before pulling herself away so she can look out the window towards the hospital across the parking lot. “I still don’t know why I have to do this. I may be less of a woman now— but I’m not _crazy_.”

                The good humor that was filling Dean, all at once drains to the floorboards. “Jess … you’re  _not_ less of a woman.”

                Jessica scoffs. “I am _quite literally_ less of a woman. They took all of my— _womanly parts._ ”

                “Not _all_ of ‘em” Dean offers, quickly realizing that _that_ probably isn’t helping. “Sorry.” he mutters before Jess has the chance to yell at him for it.

                But the woman doesn’t yell, and she doesn’t even look away from the stark, white building that’s looming in the distance. “I won’t ever have kids again” she whispers softly, sounding hollow—like the thoughts are just echoes bouncing around her insides. “I mean … I won’t even have a period anymore.”

                Dean can’t help but scrunch up his nose, but he still does his best to remain sympathetic. “Well— _uh_ , isn’t _that_ a good thing?”

                Jessica just shrugs as she remains tightly wound in her seat. “Good or bad, it is what it is.”

                He waits a long moment—John’s soft squeaks and hums being the only noise floating throughout the cab. “Maybe … maybe it’s good that you’re going in there to talk to someone about all this, because I’m really scared I’m gonna say the wrong thing here.”

                With a heavy sigh, Jessica finally looks his way—defeated and sad, and Dean really wishes that he could change all of this for her. “I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean to put all this on you.”

                “Hey, hey … _no_ , put whatever you need to on me. I’m your pack mule, baby! I’m built to carry! God didn’t give me these broad shoulders for nothin’ … _well_ , other than to increase my sex appeal.” He waggles his eyebrows and purses his lips, and soon enough, Jess is giggling.

                “You’re such a nerd” she laughs, gently punching him in the arm.

                “An _attractive_ nerd with broad, broad shoulders.”

                “Oh my god … okay, I’m getting out of the car. Don’t turn my son into as big of a nerd as you are.” With that, Jess pops open the car door and steps outside.

                Dean bends down to look at her, grinning—making sure that she _has to_ grin back. “Don’t tell me what to do, woman!”

                Jessica laughs and slams the door in his face, spinning around quickly so she can waddle across the street and on towards the nurse that’s waiting for her with a wheelchair.

                Dean’s smile slowly fades as the worry begins to plague him. He watches her carefully, really wishing she would have let him drop her off right at the front, but she’s determined to walk as much as possible—so she can recover as fast as possible. He lets out a breath of relief once she safely across and sitting down in the chair. With one final wave, she gets wheeled inside, and the automatic doors close swiftly behind her.

                “Well, guess it’s just you and me, little man” Dean says, smiling once more as he looks back into the rearview.

                John has both his hands in the air now, and he’s clasping his fingers together—exploring this whole new concept of _dexterity_.

                “So, where to? Strip club? Bar? You wanna go to the track and bet on the ponies?”

                A gurgling squeak comes from the backseat and Dean snorts. “ _The park?_ Oh c’mon! That wasn’t one of the options!”

                Another squeak and then the baby farts—so loud, it’s _obvious_ whose son he is.

                “Oh my god … _really_ , dude?”

                The beginnings of a cry start to fill up the car, along with that tangy, sweet stench of baby poop.

                “You were so cute just a second ago” Dean mumbles, popping open the car door so he can grab the diaper bag out of the trunk.

                John’s cries only grow louder as Dean does his best to clean him up— carefully avoiding the tracheotomy tube that's winding from his little neck; but soon, the child is calm again and Dean is buckling him back into his carseat.

                “There … _now_ can we go to the bar? I could really use a beer.”

                John’s green eyes blink at him wondrously, and then he smiles—little bubbles of drool popping off of his lips.

                Dean feels his heart swell until it hurts his ribs, and he bends in and kisses the baby’s forehead while taking one, long whiff of that soft baby-smell that he’ll never admit he loves. “ _Fine_ … we’ll go to the park. But you’ll owe me a beer in about twenty two years.”

                John’s tiny hands grasp at Dean’s face, and soon,  he can't help but think—this is more soothing than any drink ever could be.

***

                It was a beautiful day, and the park felt warm and familiar—like a memory; and he certainly had plenty of memories here. His mom used to take him and Sam here all the time. They would kick around a soccer ball, or explore the meadow that was at the far end of the grounds. Sam would collect pebbles in his pockets, and then their mother would always gripe about it later, because they’d end up clanking around in the washing machine. So Dean would always find more "cool rocks" for his younger brother, laughing harder and harder with his mother's frustration. 

                As Dean pushes John’s stroller down the walking path, he sees the jungle gym where he broke his wrist … and the sandbox where he twisted his ankle, and the bridge over the creek where he fell and split his chin open. He lost a lot of blood in this park now that he thinks about it … and even though at the time, it wasn’t fun at all, he has fun thinking about it now. He has fun thinking about all the bumps and bruises _John_ will probably get while playing here. Dean hopes that he gets to be one of the people who can bandage him up, make everything better … put a smile back on his little face. That’s what _his_ father used to do with _him_ , and even though Dean isn’t this kid’s father, he still wants to play a similar role.

                And who knows … maybe someday, he’ll have a kid of his own to bring here.

                Maybe … _someday_.

               

                After they walk a little further, he finds a bench to sit at. John fell asleep about ten minutes ago and he doesn’t want to wake him by rolling the stroller over bumps; the jostling could disrupt his breathing anyway. So Dean pulls the soft blanket up to his nephew's chin and then he sits himself down, just looking at the tree tops—listening to the birds, and breathing in the warm air.

                “ _Aw_ —he’s gorgeous! How old is he?”

                The young woman’s voice is unexpected, but he feels so at peace right now, he barely even jumps. “Almost four months” he answers before he even fully turns to look at her.

                “Oh, he’s precious!” she sings, finally peering up from the stroller, and her clear blue eyes shock Dean far more than her voice did.

                “ _Uh_ … yeah. He’s a cutie.”

                “Your wife must be beautiful too to make such a beautiful baby.”

                Dean’s forehead crinkles a moment before he realizes the woman’s misconception. “Oh— _uh_ , no … I mean, _she’s pretty_ , but she’s not my wife. I mean, _he’s_ not my kid … I mean …” Dean’s tongue continues to seize in his mouth, “he’s my nephew!” he finally spits out, mentally punching himself in the face.

                But instead of being put off, the woman’s smile seems to light up. “Oh? So … a handsome man with a beautiful baby is actually, _unattached_? Must be my lucky day.” The woman stands even straighter, giving Dean a good view of her long, lean lines and the sharp curve of her hip.

                He smiles stupidly as he shifts awkwardly on his haunches, trying to think of something else to say; but he has nothing. The woman _is_ pretty— _sure_ ; and normally, he’d be flashing his hundred-dollar-smile and feeding her lines that would have her eating out of his hand in the matter of seconds, but for some reason—he’s really just not feeling it today.

                “So …” the woman continues after the chirping birds are the only things carrying on a conversation, “what are you up to when you’re _not_ on baby duty?”

                It’s a hint, and not a subtle one either—and Dean knows what’s coming next because he practically _invented_ this move, and he quietly wonders if all the women he’s ever used it on felt just as uncomfortable as he does now. “ _Uh_ … well, not much.”

                “I can change that” the woman smirks—cool blue eyes, soon darkening with hunger.

                Dean chuckles nervously and looks back at John, secretly hoping that he’ll choose _this_ moment to wake up so he’ll have and excuse to run away. “Well … _uh_ …”

                The woman then sits herself down beside him on the bench—long, brown hair blowing softly over her shoulders with the breeze. “I know a wonderful coffee shop nearby. Maybe … maybe we could get a cup together.”

                Dean peeks at her from the corner of his eyes—she’s biting her lip, waiting for his answer, and Dean really wishes he remembered how to talk.

                “I’m Alexis, by the way” she jumps in again, offering out her hand for Dean to take.

                He does, and forces another, weak smile. “Dean” he mutters, thankful that he can at least say _that_ much.

                “It’s nice to meet you, Dean.”

                John stirs a moment, and Dean perks up hopefully, but then the baby settles once again so he sinks back down in despair.

                “It’s so sweet how attentive you are. It’s hard to find a man who can be so thoughtful—even with _their own_ kids.”

                Dean nods but keeps his eyes on John.

                “So … about that coffee …”

                With a sigh, and a bit of annoyance, he finally finds his will to speak again. “ _Look_ —Alexis, I appreciate the offer, but I just have a lot on my plate right now, and I just don’t think I’d have the time to meet up.”

                The woman’s demeanor instantly flips on its head, and soon—she’s standing up again and straightening out her blouse as if she needs something to fiddle with. “Oh, well … not a problem. I understand.”

                “I … I do appreciate it though. I’m flattered … _really_.” Dean’s starting to feel bad for her because, it’s obvious that the lady is embarrassed now.

                “I should be going. I have to get home” Alexis says suddenly, giving Dean one last, disappointed look. “It was nice meeting you.”

                “Yeah … _uh_ , you too” Dean replies, barely getting the words out before the woman is speeding off, jetting down the length of the walking path until she reaches the fork and turns out of sight.

                “ _Jesus_ …” Dean mutters, rolling his head back so he can look up at the sky. When did _that_ sort of thing get so complicated for him? A pretty woman—approaching him out of nowhere and asking him out? He should be making out with her by now. _Hell_ , he should’ve been making out with her before he even knew her name! What’s wrong with him? She was hot. She was just his type too … dark hair, pretty eyes.

 _That blue_.

                It was stunning …

                Dean blinks a few times and takes a deep breath, trying to keep his mind from going where it obviously wants to go.

                _He’s numb._

                That’s been working for him and he needs to _stay_ numb.

                But _that blue_ keeps inching in, coating the edges of his thoughts and making them tingle and ache.

                It wasn’t like Cas’s blue … it wasn’t dark enough, but it was just as shocking. It left him speechless and dumb just like Cas’s always did.

                And her dark hair only made that blue stand out more.

                And with the birds chirping and the trees rustling in the wind, and the unseasonably warm air making his memories feel too close, so close that he can practically taste Cas on his tongue.

                He can feel the press of his body against his own.

                Dean’s hands clench around the phantom flesh and he inhales the recollections of smells and sounds—the sound of Cas’s heart beating fast against his ribs, the smell of his soap as it clung to his freshly washed skin … the feel of his hair as Dean ran his fingers along every strand.

                The park morphs around him—the trees grow taller and dance to and fro until they circle the edges. The grass recedes and rocks and dust fill in the spaces. The air gets dryer and the wind— _stronger_ , and as Dean safely tucks himself away behind closed eyes, he then finds that he's somewhere from months and months ago … confessing every last thought in his head to a man who needed to know. A confession that led to a kiss; and a kiss that led to him sitting _here_ , trying his hardest not remember any of it.

                John lets out a small, sharp cry.

                Dean opens his eyes again.

                The only blue he sees is dotted with clouds, and the only touch he feels is the press of the bench against his back.

                John cries once more … and Dean takes a deep breath, trying his best not to do the same.


	29. In the Open

                Jess came back from her appointment in relatively good spirits. She said that everything went well, but she still wishes she didn’t have to keep going back; but something told Dean that she actually isn’t going to mind the counseling as much as she says. He knows the value of having someone to talk to—especially when you don’t feel like talking.

                Once they went to the pharmacy and stocked up on everything that John and Jess might need—as well as a six pack of the good stuff for Dean, he dropped them both off at home and headed to Topeka to get the fancy baby formula that Jess wanted. The stuff was damn near fifty bucks a container, but he had to admit, John seemed perkier with _that_ stuff as opposed to the supply that the hospital gave them. They still use it in a pinch, though the poor kid’s stomach always seems to disagree with the mix.

                Nothing wrecks Dean quicker than seeing that little boy in pain.

                Everything that he still has to go through seems like torture. At nights, he sleeps with a stronger ventilator—and a heart monitor that measures all his levels. Dean and Jess have to hold that poor baby as still as possible while they rig him up to everything—and he screams and he cries, and Dean has to clench his teeth as hard as he can so he doesn’t break down too. Jess is a rock though—she knows that the most important thing is making sure her baby is safe and healthy, and they can’t do that without all the technology. The only good part is—John is usually so exhausted after the wrestling match with it all, that he falls right to sleep once they finally let him go.

                But all that is not half as bad as the injections. When the doctors told them that John would need daily injections, Dean was horrified. There were growth stimulants and various supplements, and different medications that John just couldn’t take orally, for fear of aspiration. So Dean and Jess and Sam all had to get trained on how to give those to John in a more _direct_ way.

                “I have to stick a needle into him?” Dean had screamed, and he almost walked out of the room right then and there, but the nurses corralled him and told him that it honestly wouldn’t be that bad.

                _Yeah … sure._

                Not that bad? They must not be paying attention to the way John’s little face scrunches up every time they have to poke that soft, pink skin. And they have to be ignoring the big, marble-sized tears that come rolling out of his eyes along with the blood that comes dribbling out of the wound. And they are either heartless or soulless or both not to be affected when that sweet, angel of a boy looks at them right afterwards—with nothing but pain and question in his eyes, like: _why do you want to hurt me? Do I really deserve this?_

               Dean never has an answer for him.

So Jessica usually handles the injections since Dean can’t stomach it most days—but sometimes he still has to take over, when Jess is not feeling well or she’s at the doctor.

                _It’s not fair._

                Dean _hates_ it. He just wants this part to be over; and he knows that John is doing better and better every day … he is already lightyears beyond where he was just a couple of months ago—but it’s still not far enough. Dean wants him to be strong enough to do the things that other babies are doing: lifting his head on his own, pulling himself up, playing with toys and trying to roll over.

                But he isn’t— _he can’t_. Most of the time, he just has to lay there and stare as the world passes him by; stare as he waits for someone else to move him through it. Dean can tell that he gets frustrated … who could blame him? Being stuck in your body like that? It must be infuriating.

                However, the fact that he _is_ essentially stuck, does lead to one of Dean’s favorite routines … at least for now. Three times a day, John needs to perform some exercises, so he and Dean go through a sequence. They practice rolling and lifting various limbs … they bend and flex, and then Dean will rub his thumbs softly over John’s little muscles—ensuring that his circulation is good and that he’s getting stronger and stronger after every session. And John never ceases to have a big smile on his face the entire time that they’re exercising … and when Dean plays music so that the room isn’t so quiet, the baby boy will laugh and squeak and bounce his hands in the air to the beat. Jessica plays classical pieces when she does the exercises with him, and Sam plays some weird, meditation stuff—but Dean puts on Zeppelin and Stones, and even some Marley every now and then … and he’s pretty sure John likes _his_ music the best.

                “You’re over stimulating him, Dean” Sam always scolds—but Dean doesn’t think that’s right. The whole point is to get John’s blood flowing, his body moving; so how is he supposed to do that when all he wants to do is pass out from boredom?

                _No_ , Dean is determined to get this baby healthy—not that Sam doesn’t want the same thing, but Sam already has so many other things he has to worry about. Dean can do _this_ part. He can watch this baby and give him everything that he needs and ensure that _soon_ , he won’t need the trach and the ventilator or all the medications. Sam can worry about the bills and keeping his family above water for now. Dean can handle the rest.

                John will be fine.

                That’s Dean’s number one priority.

***

                When Sam finally got home, it was pretty late. Dean would’ve been in bed already but there was a marathon of “Fast N' Loud” playing and he got caught up in it once Jess and John fell asleep.

                “What’re you still doing up?” Sam asks mid-yawn once he shuts the front door behind him.

                “Car show” Dean says flatly, and Sam just nods because that’s apparently all the explanation that he needs. Dean takes a long swig of his beer and then looks over at his brother when Sam collapses onto the couch beside him. “Long day?”

                “Yeah. I stupidly thought that someone else would take over some of my work while I was out … I was wrong.” Sam slouches into the cushions and closes his eyes—letting his floppy head lull back and his hair splash out around his face.

                “That sucks” Dean offers, because that’s really all he can do … _except_ … “Want a beer?”

                One of Sam’s eyes slit open and glances around the room, as if the offer is some shady, back-alley deal that he shouldn’t be tempted by. “ _Uh_ … sure. Might be nice.”

                Dean pats him on the leg and then heaves himself off the couch, rounding the other side so he can make his way to the fridge. In a second, he’s sitting back down and handing his brother a bottle.

                “Thanks” Sam says while twisting off the top. “How’d today go for you? Jess make it to her appointment?”

                Dean nods, taking another gulp before he says anything else. “Yeah … although …” he hesitates, wondering if he should share what Jessica had said in the car before she left. He knows that she tells him things that she probably wouldn’t say to Sam—either because it’d worry him, or she just doesn’t want him to know. Dean kind of has a feeling that this is one of those things, but Sam is his brother—and Jess is Sam’s wife, and Dean really has an obligation to keep him informed.

                “Although, _what?_ ” Sam asks, becoming more rigid and pulling himself upright again.

                Dean sighs before picking up the remote and muting the TV. “I dunno … just something that she said.”

                “Jess? What did she say?” Sam leans in closer, and the dark circles under his eyes only seem to intensify his concern.

                Dean rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I mean, it might be nothing … and she _is_ seeing a counselor, so they’re probably taking care of it.”

                “Oh my God, Dean … just tell me!” Sam hisses, obviously trying to keep his voice low but he’s not doing a very good job.

                “Fine—fine.” Dean repositions himself so he’s facing Sammy, and he takes a deep breath—hoping that the kid will just laugh and tell him that it’s _nothing_. “When I was dropping her off, Jess said that … that she felt like less of a woman. I dunno, man. I think that at the hospital, she was always so worried about John—she never had the chance to really think about what happened to _her_ , but she’s thinking about it now. I’m just kinda worried she’s not handling it well.”

                Sam’s eyes slowly drop to the floor, and he becomes very still—so still, it’s starting to freak Dean out.

                “ _So_ … what do ya think?”

                His brother doesn’t answer for a long moment and Dean almost says something again—but then Sam finally speaks. “I think—that once again, there’s nothing I can do to help her” Sam whispers, as if he’s only intending for himself to hear it.

                Dean furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

                Sam huffs before halfway rolling his eyes. “What do you think I mean, Dean? How am I supposed to help her? I can’t give her back what she lost. I can’t tell her that it will all be okay, because … how the hell do I know that? Anything I say will probably make it worse, but if I say _nothing_ —that will _definitely_ make it worse. I _can’t_ help her.” He slams down his now empty beer on the coffee table and it makes Dean jolt. “I can’t help my son, I can’t help my wife … I can’t pay the damn bills and I can’t catch up at work. _Fuck_ ... I’m useless, I’m _absolutely_ useless.”

                “ _Sam_ …” Dean begins, but then he realizes, he feels the same way right now. There’s nothing he can really say to help his brother. _He’s_ useless too.

                “It’s … it’s fine, Dean. I’m just tired” Sam jumps in quickly, rubbing his hand over his face while shaking his head. “Thanks for telling me. I’ll talk to her … it’ll be fine.”

                Dean forces a vague smile, almost wanting to laugh at his brother’s evasive maneuver.  It was a _pure-Winchester_ performance. _Avoid, avoid, avoid_. Brilliant. Sam is usually better at breaking those bad habits than Dean is, but every now and then—he can’t help but fall back into that vortex of horrible choices.

              

              Dean eventually gets them another round,  and for a while, the two just sit there—nursing their beers while thinking about all the things they’re determined _not_ to say ... at least, that’s what _Dean_ is doing.

                “So …” Sam blurts suddenly, and Dean nearly chokes because, he doesn’t like the sound of that _so,_ “What ever happened with Cas?”

                “Jesus Christ … not now, Sam.” Dean groans because his brother is an evil genius. Bringing _that_ up _now_. This isn’t the first time he asked about it, but at least all those other times, Dean was inside a giant hospital with a lot of dark corners to run to; but he can’t really do that here. This house is tiny, and Dean can’t even leave to go to bed because, _well_ … they’re both _sitting_ on it right now.

                “If not _now,_ than when, Dean? You won’t _ever_ talk about it if I don’t keep asking.”

                Dean sneers in his brother’s direction. “Ya ever think that that’s because I _don’t want_ to talk about it?”

                Sam snorts mockingly. “ _Obviously_ , but you _need_ to talk about it.”

                “Says who?”

                “Says _me_.”

                Dean really wants to kick the moose off of the couch right now. “No offense, little brother—but I don’t have to tell you shit.”

                “Dean …” Sam begins, sounding way too fatherly—and it’s very, very annoying, “something really bad obviously went down with you two for you to come home three days late and hungover.”

                “Maybe I just wanted to take a break—ya ever think of that? All this hospital crap has been hard on me too, ya know.”

                Sam sighs and then nods, but it’s placation and Dean knows it. “Yes, I know it’s been hard on you too … but I also know _you_. These kind of things—things involving _family_ … you’ll run _yourself_ into the ground before you ever stop taking care of us. You weren’t taking a break from everything going on _here_. You were avoiding something else, and I’m guessing, since you haven’t mentioned the guy since you got back … that you're avoiding Cas.”

                “And you’re avoiding your own shit by trying to dissect mine” Dean snips.

                “Yeah—that’s probably true, but it doesn’t mean I don’t have a valid reason for it.”

                “And that is?”

                “I’m worried about you, Dean.”

                Dean groans as he collapses deeper into the couch. “Don’t be.”

                “Well, I am.” Sam’s hand is soon reaching out and nudging Dean in the arm. “You seem to forget … I saw you two together. I saw how it was. I saw how much you cared about him; and _all that_ couldn’t have just disappeared overnight.”

                “Well— _it did_. So drop it.” Dean begins to stand up so he can throw his beer bottle in the recycling so he can get another, but Sam’s hand quickly takes hold of his shoulder and forces him back down. “What the hell, Sam?” Dean growls, turning to glare at his brother—but Sam seems rather unaffected.

                “Did he cheat on you?”

                “Oh for fuck’s sake!” Dean tries to get up again, but once again, Sam keeps him in his seat. “Sam … _let go_.”

                “Not until you tell me what happened.” Sam moves in closer so it’s easier to keep his grip on Dean.

                “I really don’t want to talk about this.”

                “ _Tough_.”

                He’s angry, but Dean is feeling the fight in him, drain—being replaced with exhaustion and that numbness that’s kept him together for so long. “Sam … _c’mon_.”

                “Dean …” Sam slowly drops his hand as if he knows now, he doesn’t need to keep Dean down anymore.  “I know you love him, okay? That’s the only reason I’m pushing this.”

                Dean’s eyes bolt to his little brother, and his heart races because, he just can’t believe that Sam  _said it_ like that … he said it like it was so easy—like it’s something that didn’t need a lot of thought or a lot of time. He said it like it was the simplest truth on earth, and the most horrifying thing is—he’s probably right.

                “I know you didn’t know him for that long, but you two seemed to work. I’ve _never_ seen you more relaxed or happier then when you were with Cas—so I have to know, what happened? Why are you _here_ , Dean? Not that I don’t want you here … _I do_ , but why? If … if this all is just some stupid freak out that you’re having because you don’t think you deserve to be loved, or deserve to be happy, then I swear—I’m going to kick your ass and then drive you back to Cas myself, but if this is—”

                “He left me, Sam”

                Sam’s mouth drops open—as if he’s lost without finishing his speech. “He … _he_ left _you_?”

                “The night that John was born. He and I were … we were taking a trip …”

                “Mount Rushmore” Sam finishes—because he saw the pictures, so obviously he knows some of this story already; and Dean is actually surprised that Sam didn’t already know more of it, but Jess apparently kept their talk to herself—which only makes him feel even worse for divulging what _she had_ said in the car, to Sam. _Too late now._

                Dean clears his throat and continues. “Yeah. But … he kept getting calls from home. Calls about his dad, so in the middle of the night he just bolted.”

                Sam squints his eyes with confusion. “He seriously just _left_? He didn’t say anything?”

                Dean shrugs, feeling the words tumble out of his mouth—like he has no control over them whatsoever. He’s just another person listening to all this like Sam is. “He left a note saying that he was sorry, but other than that—nothin’. I woke up and he was gone.”

                “Dean … I’m … I’m sorry.”

                Dean only shrugs again. “Yeah. Me too.”

                Sam takes a moment, finally twisting back around so he’s not facing his brother—a small act of respect and sympathy that Dean greatly appreciates. “So … what did he say when you went back and spoke with him?”

                This was the part that he’d been dreading the most, because he hasn’t even taken them time to really work it out for himself yet. _What did happen?_ How does _he_ feel about it? “I—I found out more about him” Dean says plainly.

                “What do you mean?”

                They’re both very quite now, and the flashes from the now muted television animate their faces, making both seem surreal and happier than they actually are.

                Dean shakes his head a moment but then stops when he remembers Sam isn’t looking at him. “He’s not who I thought he was, Sam. He … he has _problems_. He has _family shit_ and everything is so messed up for him. He—he didn’t want me to get involved, and I don’t think … I don’t think I want to _be_ involved either.”

                “Everyone has family problems, Dean … that’s not—” Sam starts but Dean snickers and cuts him off.

                “Not everyone has problems like _this_ , man.”

                Sam’s curiosity is obviously getting the better of him, but Dean doesn’t even know how to start explaining what Cas told him—and part of him is embarrassed for misjudging someone so completely as he did, Cas; and explaining all this to Sam will only highlight his misjudgment. But then again—Sam misjudged him too.

                “His mom was murdered when he was a teenager” Dean begins, feeling his brother tense beside him. “It was really brutal and Cas witnessed part of it.”

                “Oh Jesus, _really_?” Sam says breathlessly.

                Dean nods. “And now his father has Alzheimer’s, or dementia or something, and he doesn’t remember that his wife is dead—or _how_ she died, so Cas has to remind him all the time.”

                “Shit.” Sam is obviously at a loss and Dean doesn’t think he’s ever heard his brother speechless before.

                “And that’s all bad enough but …” Dean stops, wondering if he should even share this last part. He knows he shouldn’t care, but for some reason—he still wants Sam to _like_ Cas, and he’s afraid that he won’t once he tells him the rest.

                Sam finally turns back to look at him—shoulders hunched, urging him to keep going. “But … what?”

                Dean gives up. “He told me—Cas told me that he … _he likes_ telling his dad about the murder. He likes watching him break down. I mean—what kind of person could _like_ that, man? How fucked up do you have to be?”

                Sam doesn’t say anything, and it makes Dean even more uneasy.

                “I mean—I get that watching your mother get beaten and dragged away has to fuck you up, but … his _dad_ didn’t do it. Everything Cas said before and everything that anyone else had ever told me about his dad, always made him seem like he was super nice and caring and shit. I mean, that entire town _loves_ him, and they love Cas too—yet, no one knows what’s going on when Cas goes to visit him. He said he hadn’t told anybody. He didn’t even want to tell _me_ … but, he wanted to get rid of me so I guess … that was the quickest way to do it.” Dean stops, almost gasping from his rant—and he waits for Sam to jump in, but the other Winchester is still silent, and it’s making Dean go insane. “So?” he finally says, glaring at his brother from the corner of his eye.

                “So?” Sam repeats, in a hollow voice that gives no clue as to what he’s thinking.

                “So—what … what’s your take? I know you have an opinion on all this. Do you think I’m an idiot for not seeing it before, that the guy was a fucking sociopath? Or are you gonna say you’re glad I’m done with him? What? Lay it on me!”

                Sam remains still and quiet, leaving Dean to panic for even longer. “I think …” he eventually mutters, making Dean sit on the edge of the couch, eagerly waiting for him to finish, “I think that Cas is just as confused about all this as you are.”

                Dean’s face twists. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

                Sam cocks his head to the side and shrugs softly—staring off into the distance like this topic isn’t really as serious as it is. “ _I_ wanted to hurt dad … after mom died. I wanted to make him suffer.”

                Dean’s stomach drops and he suddenly feels like he could hurl. “You _what?_ ”

                Sam nods but he doesn’t look Dean’s way. “I was angry. I was angry that he just left and never talked to us about it. It was like … like he left us with all the pain from it, ya know?  And he just got to _leave_. He got to live a life while ours fell apart. I was _furious_. I wanted him to pay.”

                “What the fuck, Sam?” Dean is disgusted. It was one thing for him to misjudge _Cas_ , but ... not Sam. Not his own brother.

                “Don’t act like you weren’t mad either, Dean. I know you were.”

                “Yeah— _I was_ , but I didn’t want Dad to _suffer_. I didn’t want to hurt him!” Dean’s voice raises, but he tempers it quickly so he doesn’t wake the rest of the house.

                “Well … you’re a better person than me, I guess” Sam says nonchalantly.

                Dean is at a loss. “So … so you think … you think what Cas did— _is_ doing, is okay?”

                Sam finally seems to snap out of his trance and shakes his head. “No. I’m not saying that any of this is right; but what I _am_ saying is—how we feel, how we react to traumatic things isn’t always within our control. We do things that we aren’t proud of and we _feel_ things that we don’t want to feel. How our mom died was bad enough, and what our dad did, _sucked_ … but I can’t imagine what it would be like if we were younger when it all happened. I mean—Cas’s mom was murdered, Dean. _Murdered._ And if he was there for it, he probably feels some sort of responsibility. And then to have his dad practically _disappear_ … I mean, that’s essentially what he did. His mind is gone so therefore, _he’s gone …_ that had to fuck him up. That is a lot for one person to deal with, Dean. It’s not right and it’s not good—but I totally get why he’s doing what he’s doing.” Sam folds his hands across his lap and looks down at his interlocked fingers, as if that’s all he can do to keep himself steady. “It sucks to be human sometimes, and Castiel seems to have gotten a really shitty-end of that stick.”

                “Yeah … but …”

                “What would _you_ do?” Sam asks suddenly, looking at Dean with hard eyes that almost hurt to acknowledge.

                “What would …?” Dean leads, not understanding anything right now.

                Sam sighs. “In _Cas’s_ place, what would you do?”

                Dean fidgets nervously. “I—I don’t know. Probably not _that_ , though.”

                “Are you sure?”

                “I— _uh_ …” Dean is not liking this at all. He feels attacked and blamed, and he doesn’t even know why.

                “If you don’t know the answer to that question, Dean—you shouldn’t be judging Cas on how _he’s_ handling it.”

 _That’s it._ He didn’t ask to be berated over this. “So what then? What do you want, Sam? Do you think I should go back there and tell him I still want to be with him? Are you saying I should just forget all this and keep trying? Because … I don’t think I can do that, and I don’t think Cas wants me there anyway.”

                With a heavy breath, Sam falls against the arm of the couch and rubs his hand down his face another time. “No … no, Dean. I’m sorry. I’m not saying you should do anything. I just don’t want you staying angry at the guy over this.”

                “Why does it matter to you if I’m angry at him or not?” Dean snaps back, cracking his knuckles while clenching his fists together. He’s angry and worked up, and he’s really too tired for any of it.

                “Because it’s a waste of time. I don’t think either of you are in the wrong—or in the right. Things just happened and they sucked for the both of you, so I’m not pushing you to do anything or try to fix anything. Now that I know that there’s a _real_ reason why it has to be over … I understand that it has to be over. But … none of that changes how happy you two were together, so I’d rather you just remember the good times instead of feeling miserable over how it all ended.”

                It’s a solid reason, and it kicks Dean’s frustration in the ass. With a sigh, he shrinks back down and joins his brother in defeat. There doesn’t seem to be anything left to say, yet—neither of them move, feeling like the conversation still isn’t over.

                “Do you miss him?” Sam finally asks, laying his head upon his hand and closing his eyes to the world.

                Dean does the same, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table and relaxing into the cushions. “Yeah …" he finally whispers, hoping that he doesn't start to choke up,  "a lot.”

                “I’m sorry, Dean.”

                “Me too, Sammy … me too.”

                The TV flashes red and white and the two men give way to their exhaustion, falling asleep—blanketed by the solid, unending weight of each of their troubles.


	30. In and Out Again

                “Just stop saying something’s wrong with me!”

                “I’m not saying something is wrong with _you_ , I’m just saying—something _is wrong_!”

                “That’s not very different, Sam!”

                “Jess? Where are you going? Come back here!”

                When Dean had opened the front door, he had no idea that he was walking into World War III, but now that he’s in it, he’s wondering if there’s a way he can back out again while going unseen.

                “Don’t follow me!” Jessica screeches, and the sound of the bathroom door slamming makes Dean jump.

                “Jessica!” Sam pleads, following his cries with soft knocks on the door. “Please, babe … I’m not trying to piss you off. I’m just worried about you.”

                “ _Go away!_ ”

                “Jess … _babe_.”

                “I swear to god, Sam … if you don’t leave me alone …”

                Dean can hear his brother’s defeated sigh from here.

               “Fine … I’ll … I’ll leave you alone.”

                He remains motionless—back against the front door, keys still grasped tightly in his hand, barely breathing because he doesn’t know what else to do. These fights have been happening more and more, lately. Ever since Jessica felt she was healthy enough to go back to work—but the doctors didn’t agree. And, Sam agreed with the doctors—Dean agreed with no one, trying his best to stay out of it, and John just agreed to keep growing bigger and become more and more time consuming.

                Stress levels were high, money was short, and everyone felt absolutely helpless.

                Dean _hates_ feeling helpless.

                So he got a job at one of those speedy oil change places—working the late shifts so that way, Jess wasn’t home alone for too long between when _he_ left and when Sam got off; and although that has helped the money problems some, it hasn’t seemed to help anything else. Every time Dean gets back, the house feels smaller with all the mounting tension. He knows, someone is about to blow … and by the sound of what he just walked into, that _someone_ is probably going to be his sister-in-law.

                Sam suddenly appears at the mouth of the hall—rubbing at his eye with the heel of his hand. It takes him a moment to notice Dean standing there. “Oh … _hey_. How—how long have you been home?”

                “Just walked in” Dean lies.

                “Oh … cool. Jess is _um_ … she’s in the bathroom, just in case you needed to get in there. She—she might be a minute.” Sam’s voice is dragged out and ragged, like he’s been on the verge of tears for a while.

                “Okay, well, I’m good” Dean says with some mock-cheer. “Is … is everything okay?”

                Sam forces a smile that he has to know, won’t fool Dean for a second. “Yeah. She’s fine. I—I think dinner just isn’t agreeing with her.”

                Dean nods and plays along, hating how rigid things feel right now. It’s been four months since they’ve got home from the hospital. These were supposed to be the easier times—the fun times. The hard part was supposed to be over, but it feels like they’re right back in that waiting room again, praying for good news and feeling nauseous at the thought of there not being any.

                Sam looks at the ground and toes at the carpet. “Do you want something to eat? I picked up some Chinese food on my way home. It’s all in the fridge.”

                Dean finally steps further into the room and sets his keys down on the small end table, beside the baby monitor which is glowing a soft green and humming with the sounds of John’s breathing. “I’m alright. Maybe later.”

                Sam nods, seeming lost without something to do—without anyone to help.

                There needs to be a change in subject. “How’s the kiddo?” Dean asks finally, and now—genuinely curious.

                An easier, more natural smile appears on Sam’s face. “ _Really_ great. The doctor took him off two more meds today. He’s only got the HGH to inject now, and then the liquid supplements. They think he should be able to stop those soon too, now that he’s getting to a normal length and weight for his age.”

                “That’s awesome, Sammy!” Dean had been stressing about that all day. The doctor’s appointment that was scheduled for today was a critical one. All John’s follow-up labs were getting read, and all the more in depth exams were being done, and Dean really wanted to be there for the results; but he had to work. It’s a shitty, mindless job but they need the money, and he can’t afford to be calling out when he’s still so new there. “And what about his trach and the ventilator?”

                “All gone! The trach is out. His oxygen output is totally normal and his lungs are really strong now. I—I almost cried when they told us that one! I’m so happy we don’t need to strap the little guy into that thing anymore ... and that tube in his neck.” Sam shudders with the memory. 

                The tall guy may not have cried, but _Dean_ is tearing up—and he rushes towards his brother and hugs him so that Sam doesn’t have to see. “That’s awesome, Sammy” he yelps, voice cracking at the end. “Jesus fucking Christ—you don’t know how happy that makes me!” Sam hugs him back just as strongly, and they both hang on like that for a long moment, until Dean feels like he’s finally composed enough to pull away. “So …" he begins again,  wiping at his eyes and needing to talk about something else so he doesn't lose it, "how did Jess’s appointment go?”

                The happiness on his brother’s face crumbles instantly. Sam shakes his head. “They still don’t think she’s ready to work.”

                Dean droops for a second while he breathes in deep, now understanding why he walked into what he did. “How’s she taking that?”

                Sam doesn’t say anything and Dean doesn’t press him on it because _he knows_ the answer.

                “How are _you_ taking that?” he asks instead, and Sam practically snorts before turning away to go flop himself down on the couch.

                “I don’t know what to do, man! I try to talk to her about it, but she just shuts down. She just keeps saying: _I’m fine, I’m fine …_ but she obviously _isn’t_. She won’t tell me what goes on in those counseling appointments. She won’t let me go into the exam room anymore when the doctors look at her. I don’t get it. It’s like she just wants … like she wants me out of her life.”

                “I—I don’t think she wants you _out_ , Sam. She just needs time.”

                “Time for _what_?” Sam yelps, sounding crazed and heartbroken all at once. “As far as I can tell, she has healed _physically_. What I _have_  heard from the doctors, points in that direction; so it has to be her emotional health. That has to be the reason why they won’t clear her for work … but, shouldn’t _I_ be the one she turns to for that kind of thing? Isn’t that what I’m here for? If she doesn’t want to lean on me, then does that mean … she doesn’t want me?”

                “ _Sam_ …”

                “I feel like I’m losing her, Dean! I don’t think she loves me anymore.”

                His brother hunches over himself—long hair falling around his knuckles and he covers his eyes with his hands.  Dean rushes over and sits beside him, putting a heavy arm across Sam’s shoulders, trying to steady the sobs. “She still loves you. _I know_ she does … but … you can’t fix her like you do with everything else. A little research and a lot of determination _isn’t_ going to make this better."

                Sam doesn’t turn and he doesn’t uncover his eyes, but Dean has a feeling—the kid is glaring at him anyway.

                “Look … I’m obviously no expert in this area, so I could be dead wrong; but do you remember when grandma died? Mom was a wreck. She sat up in her room for weeks, and dad couldn’t do a damn thing about it.” Dean squeezes Sam’s shoulder as he drifts off into the memory.  “At first he tried being really nice. He brought her a bunch of flowers and gifts and crap.”

                Sam sniffs and sits up a little, finally uncovering his face. “He—he tried to bake her a pie.”

                Dean chuckles “I forgot about that. It was _awful_. Didn’t he add like, chili powder or something to it on accident?”

                “I think it was cumin … he thought it said _cinnamon_ ” Sam mumbles, smiling slightly in spite of himself.

                “Yeah—well, that’s what I’m talkin’ about. He pushed and pushed, and then when that didn’t work, he got mad and thought he could just _yell_ the sadness out of her.”

                Sam grunts something close to a laugh. “She punched him.”

                “Yeah, well—he deserved it” Dean huffs, remembering how his dad stomped down the stairs, rubbing the sore spot on his arm. “My point is … when dad finally gave up and just _left her alone_ , she started calming down. It took her a few more weeks, but eventually … she got back to normal. She even asked him to take her out a time or two.”

                Sam nods and then leans all the way back, making Dean have to pull his arm away. “They both seemed really happy after that.”

                “Yeah” Dean agrees, plopping back too and scratching at the scruff on his chin. “It was like they got to start over.”

                “So … you think … you think Jess and I just need to start over?” Sam asks, with a tone that makes him seem hopeful—like Dean somehow has all the answers.

                It makes Dean uneasy, because he knows … he really doesn’t know a damn thing. “I just think that you two have been through a hell of a lot these last several months, and Jess has been through even more on her own. She probably just needs to figure out how she feels about it all before she can start to explain it to you.” He bites his lip and looks towards the hall—the glow of the bathroom light being the only indication that anyone else is in the house. “I know it’ll suck, but maybe you just need to back off a bit … let her come to you.”

                Sam let’s out a long, rattled breath but he eventually nods again. “Yeah … maybe you’re right.”

                “Maybe” Dean admits, not wanting to give his brother any false hope.

 

                Nearly ten minutes pass as the two sit in silence— eventually disrupted by the sound of the bathroom door opening and then the door to the nursey, _shutting_. On the baby monitor, they hear Jessica speaking softly to a sleeping John, whispering sweetly to him, telling him that he’s beautiful and humming warm melodies that don’t really have any shape or reason. It would be a pleasant moment if there wasn’t something so obviously sad in her voice, and after a minute more, the two men can hear her start to cry.

                Sam swallows roughly before leaning over and switching off the monitor, surrounding them with silence once again. He looks over to Dean—heavy heart bleeding upon his sleeve, and Dean can only show him his own, tainted red and aching just the same.

                He wishes he had more to give … but he really has no place in this.

***

                Sam slept on the floor beside the couch that night. He soon woke up screaming, convinced that the truck was barreling into the Impala again. John woke up with the noise and then, Jess came out to make sure that everything was okay; but when she saw Dean holding onto to Sam, rocking him back and forth while talking about the time that their dad was fishing and got pulled out of the rowboat by that huge trout—she backed away slowly, quickly going into the nursery so she could take care of John.

                The small house seems determined to be filled with wailing Winchesters.

_It’s a wonder the neighbors have yet to complain._

***

                “So—who would I talk to about loans?”

                Sam puts down his phone and looks up curiously at Dean. “Loans? Loans for what?”

                “For a shop” Dean says flatly, turning his scrambled eggs over and over with a wooden spoon, and not bothering to acknowledge his brother’s curiosity.

                “A _shop?_ You want to open another shop?” Sam asks—sounding excited now, so Dean finally glances over at him with a hint of a smile.

                “ _Maybe_ … or maybe just a garage. Maybe I need to leave out the retail end of it this time.”

                Sam is jumping from his chair and rushing to Dean’s side before he even has a chance to stir his eggs again. “You really want to start another business? Like—you’re sure?”

                Dean takes the wooden spoon and whacks Sam in the stomach with it, making the kid jump back and grimace at the egg-splatter now staining his shirt.

                “Dude! What the hell?”

                Dean just shrugs and laughs, turning around to grab a plate and drop the spoon into the sink. He’s tired. He wasn’t able to get back to sleep after he finally calmed Sam down last night, so he figures he has free range to mess with the kid. “I don’t know, man … I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I’m going crazy where I’m at. _Changing oil, topping off fluids_ … a half-dead _monkey_ could do it. I want the complicated stuff. I want the engine rebuilds and the frozen transmissions, and the lump of tangled electrical wires that takes a week to free up. I miss using my brain, Sammy.”

                Sam obviously has forgotten all about his messy shirt judging by the width of the smile now taking up his face. “I can’t believe it! I’m so happy that you’re wanting to get back out there, Dean!”

                Dean rolls his eyes but he’s grinning too. “Well—don’t get too excited, little brother. I don’t got the money to do jack-shit right now; which is why I asked you before … who would I talk to about loans?”

                Sam stands up straighter, placing that dusty, _fix-it-guy_ crown back atop his head. “Well … you could start at the bank.”

                “Banks are thieves. I guess I’m talking more along the lines of—an investor. I dunno, didn’t Bobby deal in something like that?”

                Sam nods. “Yeah, he teamed up with a couple of other businesses that were always looking for spare parts—maintenance shops, shipping companies … places that could make use of a good salvage yard. They invested in his upkeep and he supplied them with discounted goods. It didn’t make him rich but it kept the lights on.”

                Dean goes back to the stove and shakes the eggs from the pan onto his plate. “Yeah— _see_ , that’s what I want. I just want a little garage where I can fix cars, and if someone wants to invest in that, then I’d be happy. I don’t need to make millions off it or anything.”

                “Well …” Sam starts, leaning up against the counter and scrunching up his brow as he takes this all into heavy consideration. “You’d need an angle.”

                “Angle? What do you mean?”

                “Well, Bobby got investors because he proposed an idea that fulfilled their needs. There were other salvage yards, but everyone knew that Bobby had the best eye for parts, so he was able to offer something that the other places couldn’t. He gave those businesses a solid model and a feasible likelihood on a return in their investment.”

                “Yeah … so, what’re you sayin’?” Dean asks, grabbing a fork from the drawer and stabbing at some eggs before shoving them into his mouth.

                “I’m _saying_ , what will your potential garage offer that the other two dozen garages around here don’t? Why would someone want to invest in _you_?”

                Dean stops chewing. “ _Um_ ...” he hums, already feeling his dreams come crashing down.

                “People aren’t just going to _give_ you money, Dean.”

                He swallows and then grimaces at his brother. “I know _that_. I’m not looking for handouts.”

                Sam slowly looks away and raises his brow. “Well, then you need an angle.”

                Dean groans before stabbing at more of his eggs. He was in such a good mood just a second ago. “Well … I … I know a lot about _classic_ cars” he finally says, thinking a moment about what he possibly has to offer.

                “There could be something to that. Maybe you could open a garage that deals solely in classics.”

                With that, an idea begins to bubble at the base of Dean’s mind and he nods. “Yeah. Maybe Bobby would want to help me out—maybe he could supply all those hard-to-find parts.”

                “You could look online too” Sam says, picking up his phone from off the counter and waving it at Dean, like some unnecessary visual aide.

                Dean scoffs. “Isn’t that like … cheating?”

                Sam laughs. “You’re living in a high-tech world, Dean. It’s about time you catch up.”

                He frowns. Dean really doesn’t like catching up.

                “Maybe Charlie could help you out with that part. You know her … she’s always looking for interesting side jobs.”

                “That’s because she gets bored easily. Who’s to say she wouldn’t get bored of _this_ and then just leave me high and dry with a bunch of computer crap that I don’t know how to use?”

                Sam turns an annoyed glare towards his older brother. “Yeah, like Charlie would just abandon you like that.”

                Dean chuckles. “Fair enough. Maybe … maybe I could give her a call?”

                “Wouldn’t hurt.”

                Dean’s mind is racing now. His half-thought just turned into a full-blown plan in about five minutes, and he doesn’t even know where to start. He needs to call Bobby—who may not even _want_ to get back into all this again. He’s supposed to be taking it easy these days. Yeah, he still has the salvage yard, but he doesn’t really get hands-on with it anymore. A few years back, the guy hired some help, planning of retiring once that help knew the lay of the land; but—Bobby Singer is too damn stubborn to ever just _stop_ doing something. So, he’ll still bark orders and make sure everything that comes in, is high quality and has some sort of purpose; and he probably drives all his employees nuts, but it is what it is.

                Maybe he’ll want to help Dean out … _maybe_.

                Charlie on the other hand, is a wild card. She could be willing to jump right in and get Dean rolling on the virtual highway, or … she may be impossible to reach. One can never tell. He and Sam usually only hear from her when she’s tearing back into town for her yearly LARP thing, or when she’s back together with Dorothy … _again_. No matter the reason though, it’s always fun to go get a beer with her and listen to all the crazy things that she’s been up to; but sitting down to talk business? Well, that’s a whole, new territory that Dean isn’t sure he wants to venture … but Sam is right. He needs to be able to offer something unique, and if he has an online business that’s just as profitable as his physical business, it might just make an investor take a chance on him.

                “ _Um_ … Dean?”

                Dean blinks a few times, waking himself up from his own, weary dreams of the future. “What?”

                Sam had sat back at the counter at some point and Dean hadn’t noticed, but now—the kid is looking down at his phone … face, wrecked with concern.

                A cold ache shivers down Dean’s spine. “What is it?” He puts down his fork, completely forgetting about his now, cold eggs so that he can walk closer to his brother and see what’s wrong.

                Sam looks up, hesitantly stretching out his arm, handing the phone over to him. “I … I was just catching up on the news and … I saw _this_.”

                Dean takes the phone, still staring at Sam—not sure if he wants to look down at the screen. Nothing good could possibly come from it; but he does anyway, first noticing the website that’s pulled up. “The Kansas Daily” is typed in bold black at the top, and different, brightly colored ads flash at the side, all trying to draw his attention—but each one dims when his gaze finally travels down to the headline that Sam apparently wants him to see. “Midwest Trucking Mogul Dies at Fifty Nine.” Dean’s heart seems to stop altogether and he looks up at Sam.

                Sam looks just as shocked as he feels.

                Dean turns back to the phone and scrolls down some more, nearly stumbling backwards when he sees a photo of _Cas_ , hugging tightly onto Anna as she cries in his arms. The caption below the photo reads. “Castiel Novak and Anna Novak embrace outside of the medical facility where their father was pronounced dead after suffering a massive brain bleed.”

                “I recognized Cas in the photo … I—I probably would’ve just scrolled right by it, otherwise” Sam says, barely above a whisper.

                Dean nods and then moves once more to the top of the article, wanting to read it from the beginning.

 

 

> “The small town of Huntsville Missouri is in mourning today after the abrupt loss of a beloved figure in their community. Charles Joseph Shurley died early Monday morning after a long battle with degenerative Alzheimer’s eventually caused a severe brain bleed in his temporal lobe, of which doctors could not repair. Shurley became known throughout the Midwest for his contributions to the trucking and shipping industry. His wife, Christine Novak—was the heir to _Interstate Transport Services_ before creating the _Divine Trucking and Transport Corporation_ with her new husband _,_ Shurley. The two met when he was working in her family’s factory. They quickly fell hard for one another and were soon married. They opened a new factory in Huntsville which completely turned the community around.  The new factory created jobs, brought in business from neighboring states and soon—expanded the locally successful _Divine Trucking Company,_ into the most lucrative shipping and transport business in Northern America.
> 
>  
> 
> Shurley’s death is not the first tragedy to strike this family however; seventeen years before, Shurley lost his beloved wife when she was murdered by a disgruntled employee. That employee kidnapped, sexually assaulted and tortured Christine Novak over the course of three days, until he took her life and then his own. Shurley was left to care for their three children: Gabriel, Anna and Castiel Novak. Now, in the wake of this new loss, the Novak- children attempt to move on yet again, with old wounds, reopened and fresh ones, making the coming days even more difficult.
> 
>  
> 
> Although Shurley sold his company and the related factories not long after his wife’s death—he was still a contributing partner and figurehead. Now, his estate and possibly, his business obligations rest in the hands of his children. Estimates put Shurley’s worth somewhere near twenty five million, considering Divine Trucking’s current place in the stock market. The Huntsville factory and the company as a whole could be deeply effected depending on what is done with Shurley’s shares. The next few weeks could mean even more trouble for the small, Missouri town, and the Novak Children will likely face a lot of questions.
> 
>  
> 
> Services are to be held on Saturday at eight a.m. at the Richfield Memorial Lawn. The burial services will be private, for close friends and family only.  A public reception will be held afterwards for all who wish to attend. Visit The Huntsville Community Center’s webpage for more information.
> 
>  
> 
> In lieu of flowers, the family asks that you make a donation to the National Alzheimer’s and Dementia Association—funds going to research that seeks out a cure.”

 

                Dean looks up from the phone, at a complete loss of how he should feel.

                “So?” Sam says, and Dean finally focuses on the man.

                “So … what?”

                Sam stands up slowly and walks around the counter, putting his hands on his hips while also wearing a lofty amount of concern on his cheek. “What are you gonna do?”

                Dean squints at him. “What do you mean?”

                Sam leans in, as if this is all some big secret they’re sharing. “Are … are you gonna go see him?”

                Dean grunts and shoves the phone back at Sam’s chest. “No, Sam. I have no business seeing him … especially now.” He turns around and walks back to his plate, picking up his fork again but he doesn’t do anything with it. He hates cold eggs and he’s not feeling very hungry anymore anyway.

                Sam sighs and crowds into him again. “ _Dean_ …”

                “ _Sam_ ” Dean mocks, not bothering to make eye contact this time.

                “He just lost his father.”

                “I realize that. I read the article.”

                Sam scoffs. “You’re really just going to stand here and act like this isn’t affecting you?”

                Dean picks up his plate and practically chucks it into the sink. “Guess so.”

                “ _Convincing_ ” Sam snickers, watching Dean push past him so he can go back into the living room.  “Dean …” he mumbles again, following closely at his brother’s heels. “Dean, just hear me out …”

                “No! Okay, just— _no!_ ” Dean stops mid step and whips around, making Sam have to hit the brakes hard so he doesn’t clamor into Dean’s back. “This is not the time for me to go there. I know what you’re going to say: _he needs support, he needs to know he’s cared about, he needs someone to lean on_ —but I got news for you, _I’m_ not the person to do all that! He has his sister and unlike me, _she_ actually has a right to be there! Cas broke up with _me_. He doesn’t want to see me—and I highly doubt that with his dad kickin’ the bucket, and the weight of an entire town’s financial security resting on his shoulders, he really wants to see _my_ face in the middle of it all, offering him empty apologies.”

                Sam frowns and begins to open his mouth again but Dean just turns his back on him so he can grab his car keys off the side table.

                “Who knows … the dude may even be happy that his dad is dead.”

                “You know that that’s not true, Dean” Sam scolds harshly from behind him.

                Dean puts his hand on the handle of the front door, stopping a second before he pulls it open. “ _Whatever_ …”

                “Where are you going?” Sam asks the moment Dean opens the door.

                “Work. Where do you think?”

                “So we’re done talking about this?”

                Dean sighs before finally turning around, looking his brother sternly in the eye—really wanting to hammer this point home. “We never _were_ talking about this, Sam. That article said the services were open to close friends and family _only_. I’m neither. I didn’t even know the man.” He backsteps off onto the porch before reaching out to grab the door handle once more. “And as far as _Cas_ is concerned … I’m nothing.” And with that, he pulls the door closed, shutting in his little brother and every possible argument he still has left to say.


	31. Free-ways

                He missed the exit for work. When he was at work, he misjudged the amount of oil he needed and overflowed the compartment of a bitchy woman's civic. He missed his turn for home—but _that_ _one_ was kind of on purpose, because the gas station on the corner carried the beer that he liked, so by the time he finally walked in the front door, Dean already had a can open.

                “Woah, starting early aren’t we?” Jess asks as soon as he walks in. She’s holding John who is cooing happily against her shoulder and playing with her hair.

                “It’s been a day” Dean grumbles, walking past her so he can set the rest of the case of beer down on the coffee table.

                “Want to talk about it?” she asks sweetly, keeping her distance though and Dean appreciates it. She is always more easy going when it comes to other people’s problems. She’s not _in your face_ like Sam is. Jess waits and watches, and gives people space until they come to _her_.

                Their mom did that too.

                _It’s nice._

                Dean shakes his head before sitting down, taking another gulp of his beer and loving how the drink seems to warm him from limb to limb.

                “Alright, well—mommy needs a shower and John has been missing his uncle, so would you mind taking him for about ten minutes?”

                That’s actually the _last_ thing he wants to do. If he watches John, he’ll have to stop drinking and—that just doesn’t seem acceptable at the moment. He grimaces.

                “ _Please_ , Dean … I’ll be quick. I’ve just been spit up on like seven times today and I smell like death.”

                Dean turns to really look her over—and she _does_ look bedraggled. Her hair is a mess and there are quite a few crusty, white blotches on her shoulder, right beneath John’s chubby face. “ _Fine_. Hand him over” he sighs.

                Jessica grins grandly before she rushes over to him. “Thank you!” she chirps, almost tossing the kid at Dean.  “I won’t take long.” She’s back down the hall and in the bathroom before he can even blink.

                Dean fumbles a second with John in one hand and his beer in the other, so he sets his can down on the table. “Why do you keep gettin’ so big?” he mumbles, and John just drools and makes some gurgling sounds, making the fresh scar on his neck stretch and twist. Dean grimaces. “Oh yeah? Well, _I_ might have gained a few pounds, but that’s only because I’m sitting in this house with _you_ all the time.”

                John squeaks again.

                “Most of it is probably muscle though—having to lift a chunkster like _you_? I should start bench pressing ya for exercise.” He laughs and then lifts the baby high above his head. “One! Two! Three!”

                John giggles and kicks his legs excitedly.

                “ _Phew_! What a work out!” He drops the baby back down and kisses him on the cheek. He smells sweetly sour, like old milk and sweat— _he needs a bath_. Dean smiles.  This is the happiest he has felt all day. John’s big eyes look up at him, and then one of his fists finds its way into that slobbery mouth, and before he knows it, John is lost in the delight of chewing on his own fingers. “Want me to leave you two alone?” Dean says jokingly, staring at the baby a little longer before standing back up and hugging him close. John doesn’t seem to notice—he just continues sucking on his fist like it’s the best thing in the world. “I got to tell ya, dude … you’re lucky” Dean whispers, walking around the small living room—pacing back and forth, bouncing John up and down against himself. “I know life was rough for you in the beginning, but you probably don’t even remember that now, _huh_?”

               After a few more wiggles and kicks, John is stilling. Soon,  he doesn’t even make a sound, and then his suckling has slows—he might be falling asleep; but Dean just continues to bob and walk in circles, feeling like now is his only time to speak.

                “If you can help it—try to stay like this as long as you can, kiddo. Getting older sucks. Things get so complicated and you never know what you’re doing … just—just stay a baby. You eat, ya poop, ya sleep. That’s the life.”

                John’s breathing gets heavier and eventually, his fist drops from his mouth, warm and wet and dripping.

                Dean can feel the drool soaking into his shirt, but he only hugs the child tighter. After a few minutes without any words but too many thoughts, he parts his lips again, using the dreaming infant as a sounding board, knowing he's too much of a coward to open up to anyone else. “I don’t have any right to be there. It’d just be an excuse to see _him_ … which is stupid, ya know? He kicked _me_ to the curb … why would I even _want_ to see him?” Dean stops a second, staring towards the window that looks out onto the street. The Impala is parked out front and the memory of Cas leaning up against her is suddenly so vivid, it makes the air almost impossible to breathe.

                John flinches against his chest—Dean inhales.

                “We’re just too different. I would’ve figured it out sooner or later … how he was treating his dad—I would’ve figured it out. It’s probably better that he told me when he did—I got out early. It’s—it’s better.”

                A soft sigh slips from John’s mouth and his tiny hand grasps at Dean’s collar bone.

                “ _Yeah_ … it’s in the past. I need to leave it there. Going back would only stir shit up. I just need to leave it alone.”

                “Leave _what_ alone?”

                Dean whips around so quickly that it startles John into an instant fit. “Oh— _sh, sh, sh_ … sorry bud!” he chokes, bouncing John up and down once again, trying to settle him.

                Jess laughs and walks closer—hair wet, robe wrapped tightly around her body, and looking like a whole new woman now that she’s finally clean. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you guys.”

                Dean tucks John under his chin as he closes his eyes. “ _Shh_ —it’s okay, kiddo. You’re okay.”

                John cries some more, but the tighter his uncle holds him, the calmer he gets and soon—he’s just looking around the room in a wide eyed wonder.

                Jess pats her son’s back as Dean continues to rock him. “So—you two having a good talk?”

                Dean blushes. “ _Uh_ —yeah. I like talkin’ when someone doesn’t know how to talk back.”

                The woman smiles before turning her eyes from her baby, up to Dean. “Sam told me about Cas’s dad. I’m sorry.”

                Dean shrugs. “Don’t be … I didn’t even know the guy.”

                “Yeah … but I’m still sorry that it happened. From what I hear, his family has already been through a lot.”

                The woman’s kind eyes feel far too heavy on him, and Dean finds himself handing the baby off to her just so he can escape their gaze. “I guess” he grumbles, rushing back to his deeply-missed can of beer.

                Jess kisses John’s cheek and places him back in his worn in spot against her shoulder—but then her focus is once more on Dean, barely missing a beat. “It’s okay to feel bad about all this, you know?” she says—not moving any closer but Dean feels like he’s being pinned in a corner all the same. “Even though you didn’t know the man, he’s still a big part of what happened with you and Castiel.”

                “ _I know that_ ” Dean growls, sucking down the last of his beer—quickly reaching into the case to grab another.

                “Okay … okay, I’m just saying—”

                “Can you just _not_ say anything, Jess? Don’t you have your _own_ issues to work out without latching onto mine?”  The can crunches in his hand and his eyes glaze over as what he said starts to echo around his skull. His tone was a lot harsher than he had intended, and his words—a lot more cut throat. He turns to look at the woman, who has since taken a few steps back, until she’s almost standing in the hall. “ _Jess_ …” Dean whispers, turning on his heels—getting ready to move in and hug her.

                But her expression seems cold now, and she’s clutching onto John like she’s scared he’ll get ripped from her body all over again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push” she says softly, turning around a second later to head into the nursery.

                “Jess … c’mon!” Dean calls out, but the door shuts behind her and that shuts him up instantly.  “Fuck” he mutters, knowing that he really should go face the woman and apologize, but he doesn’t— instead,  he just sits back down and finishes his beer, choosing to be a coward.

                That seems to be the popular choice at the moment.

                _Hell_ —it’s been the popular choice all his life.

***

                For the next few days, Jess acted like nothing happened—and Dean avoided eye contact with her like it was the plague; and their few conversations were stunted and formal … and by Friday night, Sam looked like he was ready to completely combust.

                “Will someone just tell me what the hell happened between you two?”

                “Nothing, Sam. Everything is fine” Jess says diplomatically, spooning some green beans onto her plate. She then politely passes them to Dean, who takes the dish and nods in her direction but doesn’t actually look up.

                Sam groans. “Oh, _yeah_ … you two are just _great!_ ”

                John coughs on the cheerios that he just shoved into his mouth, so Sam takes a moment to reach over to his high chair and pat him on the back.

                “ _Look_ … I don’t know what’s going on, but for _days_ now, you two have been acting like you can barely stand each other, and I’ve had enough! Whatever it is, we’re going to sit around this table and talk it out like adults. Understand?”

                Dean _does_ understand—he understands that he needs to be anywhere else but _here_ right now. “I’m done” he mutters, standing up with his plate so he can go put it in the sink.

                “No, you’re not! Sit back down so we can talk!” Sam sneers, staring Dean down like their dad always used to do.

                However,  it only succeeds in making Dean ignore him more before walking into the kitchen, quickly getting rid of his plate and pacing right back out, past the small table that they only bring out on the rare occasions they’re all home at the same time to eat. Sam was really excited to have a meal together tonight, and Dean does feel a little bad for ruining it—but there’s no way in hell he’s just going to sit here and be spoken to like a child.

                If he had a bedroom, he’d go into it and lock the door—blare some tunes and drown out his little brother’s hysterics; but he’s not that lucky, and the living room couch is only a few feet from where Sam is seething.

_It’s not far enough._

                Dean picks up his keys.

                “Oh no, Dean! You’re not going anywhere!” Sam is already yanking himself from his seat, getting ready to wriggle past his wife and stop his older brother's escape.

                “Sam—sit down. If he wants to go, he can go” Jess grumbles, still poking at her food—acting as if this is all so normal.

                Something about her tone pisses Dean off even more. “I don’t know when you two decided I was another one of your children, but _I ain’t!_ I don’t need _your_ permission or _your_ approval to do a damn thing! I’m a grown ass man and older than all of you!”

                Sam is standing in front of him now, but Dean just shoves past him so he can grab his jacket.

                It’s been cold lately, and raining off and on—but it’s nothing compared to the ice storm in _here_.

                “Maybe if you stop _acting_ like a child, we wouldn’t treat you like one!” Sam growls, yanking Dean back by the arm.

                Dean rips away and shoves his little brother like he hasn't done since they were kids,  and it made Sam topple down onto the couch.

                “Hey! Stop it!” Jessica yelps, now—apparently much more interested in what is going on. “Dean! What the hell is wrong with you?”

                His head feels like it’s about to explode and his heart is racing in his chest. This house is squeezing itself around him like a vice and there’s absolutely no more room to breathe.

                He _has_ to get out!

                It’s fight or flight and he wants _both_.

                “I’m done! I’m fuckin’ done, okay? You two can stop avoiding your own shit now because I’m outta here! You don’t need to try n’ fix _me_ anymore, okay?”

                Sam stares up at him from the couch, mouth hanging open and chest heaving with fury. “ _Dean_.”

                “Enough’s enough, Sam! I’m done!” Dean takes one last look at the both of them, staring each in the eye, really wanting nothing more than to watch them break.

                Just then, John begins to cry.

                All three seem to diffuse as they turn to look at the baby, fussing in his high chair—puffy cheeks, turning red as tears stream from his eyes. One by one, they all turn back to each other, seeming filled up with words, but all dammed into silence.

                Dean jingles his keys between his fingers and then stares at the ground, finally grabbing his jacket off the arm of the couch before turning towards the door.

                “Dean …” Sam mutters again, too quiet amidst the baby’s cries.

                “I’ll see ya later, Sammy” Dean whispers back, opening the door and walking through it—shivering against the damp air that's welcoming him on the other side.

***

                It didn’t matter how much he told himself it was a bad idea—he kept on driving. He drove up I-70 and on through Odessa. He turned up highway 23 until it turned into the 65; and by the time he got onto the 24 … there was just no turning back.

                When the highway loomed over the Chariton River, he pulled off to the side under a small grove of trees, and curled up in the backseat, shivering beneath his jacket but eventually falling asleep to the sound of the bullfrogs, croaking angrily into the night. By the time the sun rose, Dean had a serious crick in his neck and a heavy weight in his chest.

                _What the hell am I doing?_

He didn’t have an answer, but his rusted on stubbornness kept him from turning around and driving back towards Lawrence.

                After some stretching, he woke up some more and then stopped off at a twenty four hour trucker’s diner and ate some watery eggs and still-cold sausage; but it was better than nothing—and considering he barely ate anything at dinner last night, the sub-par meal actually didn’t taste half bad.

                The booth is warm, sitting in the sun with all its faded vinyl; and Dean would feel content sitting here if he didn’t have so much guilt joining him for breakfast.

                He knows, he should really go back now. He’s cooled off—and Sam and Jess didn’t deserve him blowing up like that. After all, _he’s_ the one who’s been acting like an ass all week. They were just trying to help and he threw a tantrum over it. Sam was right, he was acting childish, and once again … he ran away.

                Like a coward.

                A childish coward.

                “Can I get my check?” he asks the waitress as she passes by him to bring someone else some coffee.

                The older woman with a bad perm looks at him quickly but nods. “Sure thing, hon—just give me a minute.”

                Dean nods back and turns once more to his plate, grimacing as the grease from the sausage congeals into a slimy grey.

                “My uncle worked there before the murder. He said that Chuck was a wreck afterwards—only held on ‘cause of the kids.”

                Dean eyes snap up to the two men sitting at the diner’s counter. One is a scrawny looking guy—swimming in an oversized t-shirt, and the other is heavier, dressed in plaid, wearing a backwards “Divine Trucking Co.” hat atop his head.

                “It’s a real shame” the heavier one continues, before sipping some more of his coffee.

                “You’re headed back there now, ain’t ya?” the scrawny man asks, looking to his side a moment as he waits for an answer.

                “Yep. Figured I’d pay my respects. They did a lot for my family back in the day. My pops would’ve lost the house if Chuck didn’t give him a job.”

                The other man nods and then picks up some toast, taking a large bite off the corner, chewing on it slowly like a cud.

                “I used to party with their son—Gabriel. That guy was a riot” the larger man adds, chuckling to himself as he stares into the kitchen. “One time, him and me stole five cases of beer off the back of a flatbed makin’ deliveries. He was havin’ a party—first crime I ever committed.”

                “Such a rebel” the scrawny man laughs, nudging his friend with his elbow.

                “Hey! We raised some hell back in the day. He was a fun guy—until his mama got killed. Then he … well, you can imagine.”

                “Yep. Such a shame.”

                “Sure was. They was good people. Seems like the worst always happens to the good’uns.”

                Dean swallows hard, feeling strange for listening in—and even stranger that he’s someplace where Castiel and his family are being talked about like this.

                “Here’s your check, honny.” The waitress interrupts, handing him the slip of paper, and Dean yanks out his wallet and throws down a twenty before she even has the chance to step away again.

                “Keep the change” he mutters while pulling himself out of the booth.

                She wrinkles her brow at him and mutters “thank you” but he’s already halfway out the door.

                The Impala feels safe once he’s inside, and when he turns her on and revs her engine, all his nerves start to settle.

                _I can’t keep doing this._

                He can’t keep losing it at the mere mention of Cas’s name … he can’t keep running away.

                Dean throws Baby into drive and curls back out onto the road, soon getting back onto the 24 and making his way east … straight on into Huntsville.

***

                There’s a line of trees that separates the edge of the graveyard and the road. It’s too far away for him to really hear a word that’s being said, but it’s close enough that he can see him—see him standing perfectly still in his black suit. Even as Anna presses against his side and lays her cheek upon his shoulder, Castiel doesn’t move. He looks frozen—stoic.

                _He looks lost._

                “So … did you work for him?”

                Dean reels at the sound of someone’s voice spurting from behind his left shoulder. He turns and sees a man leaning against a tree that’s only a few paces back, and he wonders just how long the guy has been standing there. “What?” he yelps, hoping that he doesn’t vomit out his own, rushing heart.

                “Chuck—did you work for him?” the guy asks again coolly—as if he’s talking about anything other than a dead man.

                “No—no … I _uh_ , I didn’t work for him” Dean stutters, face reddening, feeling like he’s just been caught stealing something. He looks back to the service, watching the small group dab at their eyes. Other than Mrs. Mason, Cas and Anna—he doesn’t recognize anyone else.

                “Did your _parents_ work for him?” the man carries on—now, folding his arms across his chest as he settles into the crook of the tree.

                “No. Nothing like that.” Dean turns back to the burial,  now keeping his eyes trained on Cas, hoping that if he doesn’t look at him—this _other_ guy will eventually leave.

                “So … you just like watching funerals or something?”

                Dean lurches and then whips around and faces the stranger with a sharp inhale. “What? _No!_ ”

                The man unfolds his arms once more before finally pushing himself off the bark, taking long, slow strides until he’s standing right beside him.

                He’s shorter than Dean thought he’d be, and his face seems kind— _familiar_ somehow, but his amber eyes are deep and intimidating and they’re making Dean sweat like crazy. “So then, why are you skulking behind these trees?”

                “I’m not _skulking_ ” Dean defends, inching away slowly, silently wondering if he can walk backwards to his car without falling on his ass.

                “You’re doing somethin’. They’re over there burying my dad, and you’re back _here_ —watching them like a creeper. So—what _exactly_ are you doing?”

                Dean flaps his mouth for a second, only to really register what the man had said a second later. “Wait … _your_ _dad_?” he gawks, stopping his retreat so he can really look at the guy. “You’re … you’re _Gabriel_?”

                The man tilts onto his heels, raising his eyebrows with surprise. “Ya heard of me? Am I really that famous? I should make t-shirts.”

                Dean cracks a smile— like he thought he might ...  _he likes this guy_. “Yeah _uh_ —Cas told me about you.”

                Gabriel’s face falls some and then he nods, looking away and out across the grass towards the casket. “ _Ah_ —now this is making more sense.”

                Dean steps closer and squints at him. “Wh—what do you mean?”

                “Well, that’s why you’re here. You’re not here for my dearly, departed _dad_ … you’re here for my brother.”

                “Oh _uh_ …” Dean shakes his head and shoves his hands into his pockets. “No … not really.”

                Gabriel snorts a laugh. “Yeah. _You are_ … that kid always knew how to make the boys follow him around like lost puppies. I never understood it. He’s not exactly Prince Charming or anything.”

                Dean stays silent and still, feeling very awkward now—and kind of wishing that he _was_ just some weirdo who liked watching people get put into the ground.

                “So, are you two dating?” Gabriel asks after a moment, turning back to eyeball Dean.

                Dean shakes his head again. “ _Um_ , no … not—not anymore.”

                “Wait—let me get this straight, you’re his _ex,_ and you’re trying to crash our dad’s funeral just to ... what?  Get back with him?” Gabriel’s tone dips, deeper and deeper into something angry and cold.

                “No! It’s not like that!”

                The man is suddenly in his face—somehow looming over him in spite of his height. “Look, buddy … I get that my little brother makes you all tingly in places you never knew could tingle, but I don’t appreciate you choosing _now_ to try 'n get lucky!”

                “I—I …” Dean stumbles, wanting to run but he feels stuck—just as rooted as the trees surrounding them.

                “Why’d he break up with you anyway? You a con? A slacker? Did you steal from him? I swear to god, my brother sure knows how to find the losers!”

                “Hey now—hold on!” Dean jumps in, finally getting angry. _Yeah_ , he’s probably in the wrong for being here at all, but he hasn’t really done anything uncalled for, so he doesn’t deserve to be attacked like this.

                “I bet you were in it for the money—then when you saw how much our dad was worth, you came running back, hoping to weasel in on some of the riches. Well, let me tell ya, _bucko_ —I haven’t seen the will yet, but if I know my pops, he left it all to charity; so you may as well run along and find another guy to mooch off of.”

                Dean bites the inside of his cheek, really wanting to hit the jerk, but he stops himself—not only because it’d be wildly inappropriate, but because he notices something in his eyes… a bit of _himself_.  He unclenches his fist and relaxes, looking away and back towards the Impala parked on the side of the road. “Look, man …” he starts, letting the tension carry off with the breeze, “I promise you, I don’t have any ulterior motives here. _Yes_ , Cas dumped me—but I’m not trying to win him back. I’m not even trying to talk to him. Honestly, I don’t even know _why_ I’m here, but … I lost my dad too a while back and I know how hard it can be. I guess … I guess I just wanted to make sure he was okay. Or maybe I just wanted to see him one last time— _who knows_. It was probably selfish and I’m really sorry if I crossed a line. I’ll get outta your hair.  Seriously ... you won’t see me again.” Dean holds out his hand for Gabriel to shake, wanting to ensure the guy that he’s trustworthy.

                Gabriel hesitates and looks at him warily, but then clasps their palms together—firm, like someone in charge would do. “Well, alright then.”

                Dean smiles before pulling his hand free once more, then he puts them back in his pockets and turns on his heels, heading in the direction of his Baby.

                “Hey … so, why _did_ you two break up?” Gabriel calls out suddenly, and it stops Dean in his tracks.

                But, Dean doesn’t turn around—not wanting to lose the nerve to leave. “Got too close, too quick I guess” he says warmly, realizing that that’s the truth. No matter what happened with Cas’s dad and no matter how badly it all fell apart, Dean gave himself over completely to the man, and Cas just wasn’t ready to hold all his pieces.

                Gabriel doesn’t say anything, so Dean finally looks over his shoulder—noticing the sadness settling in the man’s eyes.

                “He talked about you a lot, ya know” Dean mutters soon after, watching as Gabriel’s ears perk up.

                “Oh … yeah?” the other man grunts, obviously trying to sound unaffected but he’s failing miserably.

                “Yeah. He misses you.” Dean turns his gaze to the ground—a gnarled root is lifting up from the dirt, twisting and spiraling before it sinks back into the earth.  “Are … are you gonna go over there?” he asks, peeking back up and nodding towards the burial site.

                Gabriel gulps on some air and then shrugs. “Haven’t decided.”

                “You should” Dean says quickly, knowing it’s probably not his place, but he feels like _someone_ needs to push this. _Sam would be so proud._ “I know they’d be happy to see you.”

                With a sigh, Gabriel shakes his head. “I don’t think so … it’s been a long time.”

                “Don’t _you_ miss them?”

                Gabriel cocks his head to the side and gawks at him; and Dean instantly knows where Cas learned it from. “Of course I do.”

                “Well … you should go up there. He was your dad too, after all.”

                The man looks away, as if he’s ashamed of that fact. “Well—I wasn’t much of a son.”

                “Which is exactly why should go up there now.”

                Gabriel frowns and folds his arms across his chest again, side eyeing Dean and wavering atop his toes. “Whether I do or don’t, what do you care?”

                He doesn't really have an answer to that,  so Dean only shrugs. “I guess I don’t. Do what you want—but you gave me one hell of a third degree just now, trying to protect Cas and trying to be respectful of your father … that sounds like a good son to me, _and_ a good older brother. Just sayin’ … your family might really miss that about you.” Dean turns back towards the road and breathes in deep, loving how the chill in the air wakes him up. “Anyway, sorry if I bothered you. Have a good one.”

                “Yeah … yeah, you too” Gabriel says, sounding further off than he did just a moment ago.

                Dean begins making his way back towards the Impala once again, and when he rounds her back end and pulls up to the driver’s side door, he takes one last peek at Gabriel, only to see the man is now walking through the line of trees and onto the grass of the graveyard. Dean smiles to himself, propping his arms up onto Baby’s roof so he can watch. He can barely see through the trees, but he can still tell the moment that Anna notices the newcomer. She bursts from Cas’s side and runs around the casket, leaping into Gabriel’s arms, crying— smiling so big that Dean can see it from here. Castiel on the other hand, remains still—but his mouth is hanging open as he gawks at his long lost older brother. Anna and Gabriel finally separate, and he takes a moment to look her in the eyes, cupping his hands on her cheeks and grinning with every familiar moment. She slips her fingers over his and then begins to pull him backwards, back towards the funeral and everyone else waiting to greet the eldest Novak. Gloved black hands and suited arms all wrap around Gabriel’s body as he makes his way into the crowd, but still—Castiel doesn’t budge.

                Dean’s curiosity finally gets the better of him and soon, he’s back up at the treeline, craning his neck so he can get a better look. All at once, the crowd backs away again, leaving Gabriel room to face his little brother. Castiel’s head slowly tilts, allowing the morning sun to catch his eyes and highlight all the tears shining across the blue. Gabriel moves closer and Dean can see his mouth shaping words, but he's too far away to hear what he says.

                Castiel shakes.

                His chest lurches—he starts to crumble, but then Gabriel has him, holding him up and holding him tight.

                Dean lets out a stale breath, grinning as Cas wraps his arms around his brother’s back. He watches them for a moment more, knowing he really _should_ be on his way by now, but he doesn’t want to go … because even though Castiel is crying and completely falling apart with his father’s casket resting beside him; and even though he did some things that Dean may _never_  truly understand—even though he filled Dean’s heart to the brim, only to drain it to almost nothing again … Dean still feels happy to see the man regain something. Castiel seems closer to whole now— _mended_. With Gabriel back in his life, he might actually find some peace; and Dean wants so badly to watch that happen.

                He could watch it forever.

 

 


	32. Boundaries

                “Hi … Mr. Shurley.”

                Dean bends down and crouches in front of the pile of dirt and the temporary marker—showing where the man’s headstone will eventually be. It’s all so plain—just earth and plastic, and not at all as grand as Dean would’ve expected. The man lain to rest in front of him now is … _was,_ a millionaire. He probably could’ve bought and sold this entire cemetery three times over; but instead, he’s just humbly sleeping here … no fanfare, no statues in his honor; just dirt and a thin, plastic stand with a paper printout that says his name. It’s almost nothing, and Dean finds himself nearly drowning in all the respect he has for that.

                He takes a knee.

                “My name is Dean. Dean Winchester. We’ve never met, so – _uh,_ I’m sorry if this … if this is not the right time; but my mom always taught me to pay my respects, and … I want to do that now.”

                He hangs his head and closes his eyes—and for the first time in almost four years, he clasps his hands, and he prays.

               

                He _was_ going to leave. He had made up his mind to go when the funeral had come to an end. He watched the small crowd start to disperse—one by one, until all that was left was Castiel, Anna and Gabriel.  But after some more tears, and several more lengthy embraces, those three left as well—slowly, taking long looks back at their father, sunken down into his final resting place. Dean shuttered when they took that last step off the lawn towards the parking lot where their cars would be, because he knew how hard it was to leave after something like this. He had stayed at his father’s gravesite for an extra hour, and his mother’s—an extra _two_. It just felt so wrong leaving them in the ground, all alone, with no one to talk to. Nothing has ever made him feel like a more lousy son than _that_ —and by the way those three hesitated before finally placing their feet back upon the pavement, Dean knew that they were feeling the same way.

                It wasn’t too long after that that the men came with shovels to fill in Chuck’s grave, and that’s when Dean _did_ step away. It didn’t seem like a scene for him to entertain himself with; so he walked up some more along the edge of the cemetery, looking at the other graves, the granite figures—the grand mausoleums; and he thought about the times he used to do this with his mom, right after _her_ mother had died. He was a teenager then, and he probably could’ve found a million other things to busy himself with, but he didn’t like the thought of his mom going on her own; so he would go with her. She would bring flowers and books to read so that her mother would have something nice to dream about, and Dean would give her space to have those moments. He’d leave her to it and walk around the gardens, wondering about all the people who were permanently etched in stone, immortalized in marble and forgotten in the years. He tried to give them life again—even just a little, by creating new stories for them in his head. Even if they weren't true, he thought that maybe, just focusing on their names and who they _might've_ been, would be enough to make them feel validated again.

                It was something his mother always impressed upon him to do— _validating others._ You can hate whomever you wish, and you can choose to not be around someone, but you should always validate who they are as a person—or else you’re dehumanizing them, and that’s just not the type of son she was raising.

 

                He walked around for about an hour—until the Missouri sun was high overhead and giving the chilled air, a pleasant warmth. It made the world seem peaceful, and after a while,  Dean thought that he could just stay out there forever. The calm was infectious. But he knew that it was no place for him, and he couldn’t just keep himself tucked away behind rocks and spirits—he’d have to go back out and face the that troubles he always found himself running from.  He sighed as he walked, and he sighed even more when he reached the end of the property—steeling himself in the idea of finally leaving; but then the star jasmine caught his eye … and the soft scents nudged his nose, and before he knew it, he was stepping further into the yard, amidst twenty gravesites and people whom he’d never know, but smiled at all the same. He nodded towards each of them before he stopped to look down on all the tiny, white flowers. Reaching out, he ran his finger along the edge of one, biting his lip as it hurtled him back in time—to his old home, his mother’s smile, the sound of his father’s tools clanking on the underside of the Impala. Sammy’s laugh as he ran down the hall. The scent of the star jasmine blanketed every moment in warmth and welcome, and it made him feel young again.

                He filed his hand in through the branches and broke off a few of the thinner lengths, making a small bouquet of green and white, and then he turned on his heels and made his way back towards his car—only he wouldn’t be leaving _just_ yet. There was still something he needed to do. 

 

                When Dean finishes his prayer and opens his eyes, he picks up the branches of the star jasmine and places them into the edge of the loose dirt at the foot of the grave. He uses his other hand to pack down the soil so that the bouquet stands proudly in the air. “There …” he whispers, smiling at the bright, little flowers as they wave back at him from their new home, “that’s better.”

                With a deep breath he stands up again and rubs the dirt off of his hands so that he can put them safely into the pockets of his jacket. Then with one final sweep of his surroundings, he continues to speak. “I … I was a friend of your son’s—Cas.” Dean swallows down the urge to explain further, figuring that Chuck probably already knows the rest— _somehow_. “I know that … that he did some things that weren’t … weren’t _good_ , but—I’m pretty sure he still cares about you a lot. I know from experience that we can go a little crazy when it comes to family, and that’s usually because we love ‘em so damn much.” Dean chuckles, thinking of Sammy and how much he’ll have to apologize to him when he gets back home. “It’s easy to say things you don’t really mean—you end up pushing them away because you know they’ll still be there when you finally pull your head out of your ass.” He sighs and then focuses in on the mound of dirt and tiny rocks, all covering up a man who so many around here, loved with all their hearts. “Cas didn’t handle it well, he messed up—but please, don’t hold that against him, okay? Not even so much for _his_ sake, because he can handle himself … but for _your own_. I know I don’t know you but, everything I’ve heard has proven to me that your kids meant the world to you. And I know that having Cas treat you that way probably hurt … even if you didn’t really know what was going on the whole time, it still hurt; but … he was broken— _is_ broken. He’s still a young guy and he’s already been through more than most people have who are three times his age. That kind of hell has to take a toll. I mean— _you_ know that, obviously. She was your wife, and I can’t even imagine what that did to you _._ But … I know how losing a mom feels. Cas lost his mom, and then in a lot of ways, he felt like he lost _you_ too. And _that_ … that wasn’t your fault, so … just don’t blame yourself for all this, okay? Your family got a really shitty deal. I mean, I thought _my_ family had seen it all; but actually, we were kinda lucky. We at least got to grow up together … for the most part. But, _you all_ … you all lost so much; yet, you were still there for each other … and that’s because of _you_ , sir. You raised your kids right, and you made a strong, strong family. It may not have been how you imagined it would be … but you did good. I know, I’m just an outsider in all this, but I thought that maybe—an outsider’s perspective might be helpful right about now. You were a good father, Mr. Shurley, and a good husband. You did a lot of great things while you were here, so … I hope you can find some peace in that.”

                A soft breeze blows from off in the distance and it rustles the tiny petals of the jasmine. Dean smiles to himself and nods.

                “I hope you and her are happy now, sir. I’m sure she missed you a lot.”

                “Dean?”

                Dean’s eyes go wide as he looks up, feeling suddenly, so out of place and so in the wrong for being here, that he hopes he’ll drop dead from shame so that he won’t have to look the other man in the eye.

                “Dean, what are you doing here?”

                “Cas … I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I’ll leave right now, okay? I shouldn’t have come.” Dean turns around quickly and marches past Castiel, not bothering to look up at him. He feels too low to, anyway.

                “ _Dean_ …” Cas grabs him by the sleeve and stops him in his tracks, “wait.”

                “I’m really sorry. I _know_ I shouldn’t be here …” Dean keeps his back to him, looking out towards his baby just beyond the trees—kicking himself for not just getting in the car right after Gabriel had walked away. “I crossed the line, I know that. I shouldn’t have—”

                “Dean— _stop_. Please.” Cas’s voice is tired, but it doesn’t sound angry, and Dean takes a deep, long breath as he prepares himself to finally turn around.

                Inch by inch he circles back until he faces those blue eyes once more … and just like always—the moment they settle on him, every bit of his will slips away. “I’m sorry” he whispers again, eventually hanging his head and staring at his feet.

                Castiel lets go of Dean’s jacket sleeve once it’s obvious that he isn’t going to run. “Please, stop saying that.”

                Dean nods at the ground and then shuts his eyes, preparing himself for whatever scolding that’s awaiting him.

                “Gabriel told me that you were here.”

                That’s _not_ what he was expecting _._ He looks once more at the man in front of him, face blank and wondering. “H—how? I didn’t tell him my name.”

                Castiel’s mouth flinches on the shadow of a smile. “Yes, well—he told me that a man I used to date was hiding behind the trees over there. He also told me that the man was driving a shiny, black Impala. It wasn’t hard to come to a reasonable conclusion on who that man might be.”

                Dean’s cheeks turn ten shades of red before he hangs his head for a third time. “I’m really sorry, Cas. I wasn’t trying to stir things up. I … I—”

                “I’m not upset with you, Dean. I’m mostly just curious.”

                Dean peeks up again and holds himself tighter, fisting his hands inside of his pockets—digging his nails into the meat of his palms. A penance for meddling.

                “Why did you come?”

                With a shrug, Dean shakes his head and toes at the grass with the ridge of his boot. “I … I really don’t know.”

                The breeze blows once more, but it does nothing to carry away the strange air between them.

                Castiel nods and then hums—as if he completely understands that explanation. “Well … I must say, I’m glad you did.”

                Dean squints a little. “Yeah?”

                Castiel nods another time. “Yes. You convinced Gabriel to come back. Anna and I are very grateful.”

                “I didn’t …” Dean clears his throat and then glances off over all the graves, not wanting to solidify any of these ideas with eye contact, “he would’ve met up with you guys sooner or later. I just talked to him for a bit.”

                “ _Perhaps_ ; but my brother doesn’t often like to face uncomfortable situations, and _this_ …” Castiel turns and tilts his head towards his father’s grave, taking a long moment before finally turning it back towards Dean, “this is about as uncomfortable as one could get.”

                “Yeah” Dean breathes, at least finding some solace in _that_ common ground.

                “Dean” Cas says once more, after several quiet seconds pass them by. “I heard what you were saying just now.” He gestures behind himself to the gravesite, but this time—those blues never leave Dean’s face.

                “Cas—I—”

                But Castiel holds up his hand and stops Dean from going on another relentless rant of apologies. “You know …” he begins, stepping in a little closer but dropping his eyes to grass, “I stood there the entire service and couldn’t think of a word to say to him. _Not a single one._ Not out loud … not even in my head. My mind was blank. And then—when Gabriel appeared, I was at even more of a loss. He apologized for not coming sooner and I couldn’t utter a thing.”

                Dean looks over the man’s features—the bags under his eyes are heavy and full of regret. His skin seems too pale, and his cheeks look sunken in, like it’s been days since he's actually slept or ate. It’s breaking Dean’s heart that he just can’t reach out and hold him right now, but it’s not his place to anymore— _maybe it never was._

                “He was _my_ father and I had absolutely nothing to say to him; but then _you_ come here—someone who didn’t even know the man, and your words seem endless.” Castiel raises his gaze so it can meet with Dean’s once more, his irises— shaking and exhausted. “You said all the things that I couldn’t think of to say … or, that I was _too ashamed_ to say. I … I …” The man cranes his eyes away and he bites his lip, obviously trying to hold back more tears, but he doesn’t seem to be succeeding. “Thank you … for being a better man than I am.”

                Dean doesn’t think now—he doesn’t dwell or ponder the pros and cons, or what impression it might give, because there are more important things than the consequences that might befall him for what he does next— _Cas is breaking_ , and he’s already too shattered for that. He’ll become dust if he crumbles anymore. With swift hands and strong arms, Dean pulls him into his chest—sighing with relief the moment Castiel molds to his shoulder.

                Fingers dig into his jacket and pull him closer, and Dean steadies himself. He’d forgotten how strong Cas could be; but once his feet are firmly planted in the earth, he runs his palms over the back of the other man’s head, smoothing down that dark hair as the breeze does its best to rustle it up, like the leaves above them.

                They stay like this for a long while—until Castiel’s sobs slow, and his breathing levels out, and Dean starts to feel that aching moment approaching … the moment when Cas won’t need him anymore.

                _It was good while it lasted._

Castiel pulls away—cheeks pink from the tears and from embarrassment. “I’m sorry … I’m not usually like this.”

                Dean crowds his cheek with a crooked smile. “Don’t I know it.”

                It’s enough to make Cas smile too. “Yes—I suppose you do.”

                But their humor soon fades with the recognition of how all that knowledge came to be.

                “I’m sorry, Dean.”

                “Don’t be—your dad just passed. I’d expect you to be upset.”

                Castiel shakes his head. “I’m not apologizing for _that_ … at least, not anymore.”

                Dean’s mouth begins to dry and he swallows several times—hoping that his tongue will still be able to form sentences after this.

                “I’m sorry for everything that happened between us” Cas starts again—seeming as if this was all too easy for him to say, and it makes Dean’s ribs tighten, and it makes the air more difficult to breathe. “I never wanted to hurt you. I honestly thought that you’d grow tired of me and leave on your own. If I had known—”

                “It’s … it’s alright. You don’t need to explain” Dean mumbles, looking away immediately afterwards because he’s not sure if he can handle an explanation right now anyway.

                “It’s _not_ alright. You … you surprised me and took me off guard, and if I … if I were in a better place—if I were a better person … I might have actually deserved your kindness. I’m so sorry that I made you waste your time.”

                Dean snaps back and narrows his eyes, feeling angry now—but he does his best to reign it in. “I _wasn’t_ wasting my time. _Trust me_. I’m a pro at wasting my time—I can do that all day, every day and not think a thing of it; but I _wasn’t_ wasting my time _with you_. I was _really trying._ I _wanted_ to try.”

                Castiel’s eyes round and gloss over, practically looking through Dean as his words disappear into the ether.

                Dean sighs. “I just wish you’d told me about all this sooner. I wish I had known … maybe, maybe we could’ve talked it out. We could’ve found a way—”

                “There was no way around this. I have tried for years … I even tried leaving with you to escape it, but … none of it was a true solution. I was tethered to this place and it was making me rabid. It was irresponsible for me to even _attempt_ to begin a relationship, none the less—keep it up. It was completely unfair to you. _Talking_ about it wouldn’t have changed that.”

                “We still could have tried” Dean fights back miserably—not liking the idea of not having any hindsight when it comes to all this.

                “ _Dean_ ” Castiel whispers, stepping even closer and cloaking him with sad eyes. He lifts his hand and brushes his thumb across Dean’s cheek, smiling softly when Dean leans into the touch. “You even said it yourself … _back there_ , when you were speaking to my father. _I’m broken_ —and you are a wonderful, talented man who can fix anything and everything on four wheels … but I am not a car. There is no fixing me.”

                Dean shuts his eyes—and for a moment, he pretends that the man hadn’t just said what he’d said—and instead he concentrates on the familiar feeling of Castiel’s fingers dragging across his skin, cupping his cheek, pulling him closer. And instinctively, he holds his breath, because what usually came next is a kiss; but all his lips feel is the breeze dancing over their curves, and the chilling reality that this would all just be memories soon enough.

                Castiel lets his hand fall away.

                Dean opens his eyes once more.

                “I … I should probably be getting back to the reception. I’m sure they’ll be wondering where I am” Castiel whispers, every word sounding more reluctant than the last.

                Dean takes a second to bite back his objections before he nods, wrapping his jacket even more tightly around himself, not wanting the other man to see him tremble.

                “It was … it was good to see you again, Dean.”

                His search for a response is fruitless, but his mouth opens all the same—hopeful that something will come out.

                Castiel just smiles, as if he knows that Dean is trying—and, he probably _does_ know. He’s left Dean speechless more times than anyone ever has before, or ever will again.

                “I …” Dean manages, but he has no clue where he’s going with it.

                Arms outstretch and before he can comprehend what’s happening, Dean is being pulled into another hug—but this one feels cold and final; and he doesn’t even want to participate in it, but he does anyway—reluctantly wrapping himself around Castiel’s chest and holding him close … breathing him in one last time.

                “Goodbye, Dean” that low voice says, ghosting across Dean’s ear—there and gone, and he has no hope of ever catching it.

                He stammers; helpless as Castiel once again pulls away—watching as he takes one, two, three steps back, finally turning on the souls of those perfectly shined dress shoes, hiding away those shocking, blue eyes—the lack of which, more jarring than their first introduction, and then with several long strides, he’s fading into the distance. An echo of something astounding, taking its final leaps off the walls of the world—drifting up and out into space, where he will only ever keep drifting … further and further.

                _Out of earshot._

_Out of sight._

                “I’ll miss you” Dean finally breathes, but it’s too late.

                It’s all just too late.


	33. Night and Day

                The night slipped in beneath his feet without hesitation or warning. The moon flickered between the clouds as they raced over the flatlands; it glinted off the shiny, black paint of the Impala and made her gleam in a way that the sun never could. Dean sat himself down on the low knoll running along highway 24, and he just looked at her—his only constant from the moment he came into this world. His mother spoke often about the day that they brought him home in her—riding along in the backseat while John drove as slow as he could possibly get away with. But Dean can only remember as far back as when he used to sit behind her wheel, too short to see over it; when he was still too small to reach the pedals, but he’d go driving across the world all the same. The roads were empty in his imagination and the hills were high and coated in snow and lava. He’d race cheetahs across the Kansas wheat fields—and he’d win every single time as long as he was driving his dad’s magical car. When he got older, the magic matured with him, bringing about luck and freedom and pride. He had his first kiss while leaning against the passenger side door … Holly Andrews. She quickly wised up and ran from him as fast as those imaginary cheetahs did, but Dean appreciated the gifts she left behind.

                Homework had been done in that car. Years of muted arguments could be heard from behind her glass. Imprints of bare skin and the sweat stains of unforgettable nights can still be found in her leather. Her hinges can't shake the creak she developed from the beating of the crash; but right now, in the moonlight, she has never looked more new and beautiful to him.

                He stands up and walks slowly to her, ducking his head when one, lone car rushes past him and fades to red down the highway. Alone again, he walks around her body and traces his finger along her doors—remembering his mom, the magic, Holly, and then … remembering _Cas._   With every one of those memories still wavering through his mind, the only _steady image_ is that of Castiel—bent under the Impala’s hood, leaned up against her grill, disappearing beneath her carriage, wiping her oil from his hands. Perhaps it’s because he’s the most recent addition to this mental flipbook, but Dean thinks that there’s more to it than that. _More depth._

                In a way, Cas is _still_ here.

                A piece of him is now etched into his Baby’s frame, and the color of his eyes is tinting her paint with their reflections. She’s Dean’s only home now, but Castiel has forever embedded himself into her walls, and something about that is so, oddly calming, he can’t help but smile.

                 _It's over, but he's not finished._

                Even as the night air begins to prick his skin with chill, and even though he can still feel something inside him—breaking apart with every breath that he breathes, he can’t be sorry for how he got here. He can’t regret any of it.

                He’s different now. He’s better than he was. In spite of the fact that he is so very empty; he’s more complete than he has ever been.

                When he left Lawrence, he was searching for clarity and for familiarity, and for some simple kind of peace.

                Beneath these stars, blanketed in the soft light of the moon, he can clearly see his Baby and everything she has brought him within his last thirty one years. She brought him home that first day. She made him smile every day from then on; she saved him and pushed him, and taught him too many lessons to count— and she brought him Castiel.

                Once at her hood, Dean lays down upon the black satin paint, sighing as her unforgiving metal, _gives_ just for him; and with the night now slinking up around his shoulders and tucking underneath his chin, he wonders— what will she bring him next?

***

                He pulled back into Lawrence sometime early Sunday morning, eager to get these apologies out of the way. The long night gave way to even longer thoughts and in those last hundred miles, Dean felt like he finally came up with a plan. He has a map now— a map to navigate himself; and coming back here is the first leg of the journey. There was still a lot he needed to do and he wanted to get to it before his motivation subsided; but as he pulled up along the curb of Jess and Sam’s small home, he took an extra moment to breathe. Saying he was _sorry_ was just the start—the preamble for everything else. He’s honestly not sure how his brother will take what he has to say, but Dean hopes that Sam will understand how necessary it is.

                He has to do this.

                _It’s time._

                Baby’s door opens easily enough, and the walkway to the front of the house is short and flat, and his feet sail smoothly across the pavement—but when he reaches that sun bleached wood and that tarnished, brass door handle, he stops, because he can hear crying on the other side … _Jessica’s crying._

                Dean’s heart begins to race and soon, he’s racing inside—instantly feeling his stomach plummet to his knees when he sees Sam’s long arms wrapped around Jess’s heaving shoulders, holding her steady as _he_ obviously tries to hold back his own tears.

                Instantly, Dean’s mind vignettes to one, single and horrifying conclusion. “ _John?_ ” he breathes, the moment Sam turns to acknowledge him entering the room.

                But his brother’s face doesn’t even break more with the sound of own his son’s name; and soon—Jessica pulls herself free to look upon Dean as well, wiping her eyes and shaking her head in his direction.

                “John’s f-fine, Dean” she gasps, still jolting from her sobs.

                Relief crashes down on him making Dean snap forward and brace his hands on his knees, while still feeling nauseated from the sudden, gripping fear. “Oh shit … _oh fuck_ , thank God!” he wheezes. “ _I thought_ —you both were crying and I thought …”

                Jessica sniffs but forces a laugh, making Dean bend back up to watch her. “No— _sorry_ , we were just … we’ve been talking a lot” she says, turning a little red while his eyes are on her.

                “Oh … okay” Dean stutters, not really getting the connection but he’s too relieved to care.

                “Can you come sit down, Dean?” Sam asks, changing the subject and pulling Dean out of his panic once and for all.

                “ _Uh_ , yeah. Sure.” Dean composes himself and finally straightens out, walking towards the two seated on the couch, and he pulls the coffee table out a little so he can sit himself down onto it and face them. “I actually wanted to talk y’all about something too.”

                “Well” Sam jumps in, “Can we go first?”

                Dean tilts back a bit, feeling his nerves tighten once more because he wasn’t expecting this at all. He was expecting Sam to yell at him— and then to hug him, and then yell some more. He was expecting Jessica to give him that loving, but disapproving look that she is the absolute _queen_ of ... and then he was expecting to go and drink a beer with his brother about five minutes later as he spoke to him about all the thinking he’s been doing lately. But apparently, Sam has been doing some thinking too. “Yeah—sure. Go ahead.”

                Sam half smiles and then looks to Jess, who has since stopped crying—now giving her husband a reassuring nod as she rubs his back. “Okay … well, _uh_ … like Jess said: we’ve been talking. Ever since you left, we—we knew that we had to get some things out in the open, so we … we locked ourselves inside and we got down to the roots of some things.”

                Dean gazes back and forth between Jess and Sam, noticing now—just how close they’re sitting. Before John, seeing them like this would be nothing new and maybe—that’s why he didn’t notice it when he first came in, because it’s still so familiar to him; but they haven’t actually been like this for months. The closeness, the soft touches, the hand holding … the ease. Dean relaxes, happy to finally see it all again. “Okay …” he confirms. Now, just curious as to what this talk is really about.

                Sam swallows down his worries and takes one more anxious look at his wife. “We … we realized that we needed to spend more time _together_ … just the two of us. Well, us and John— _but_ … ya know what I mean. I mean, we haven’t been able to really be alone since John was born, and with everything else going on, it was like we were drifting apart. It was difficult to find time to just be _us_ again. And you know how it goes. I mean— _of course you do_ , you were here. But that’s kind of what I’m saying though … you were _here_ and … _we_ were here, and John was always needing something and—”

                “We think you should move out” Jess jumps in, sounding slightly exasperated with her husband’s rambling.

                “Jessica!” Sam snips, eyeing her hard and squeezing her hand. “I was getting to that! You didn’t need to—”

                Dean’s laughs stop him cold.

                “ _What_ … why are you laughing?” Sam hisses.

                Dean grins wide before reaching out to pat his brother on the knee, and then he tilts forward and wraps both Sam and Jess in a large, warm hug. “You guys are hilarious” he chuckles, shaking them both as he squishes himself in between them.

                Jessica chuckles too but Sam huffs dejectedly; yet, they both still clutch him in return.

                When they finally part ways, only _two_ out of the three are smiling.

                “I don’t get it. Why aren’t you pissed? We’re kicking you out!” Sam whines.

                Dean just smiles some more, standing up soon after and ruffling his brother’s shaggy hair. “I ain’t pissed because … I agree with ya, Sammy. That’s actually what I wanted to talk to _you_ about.” He laughs again and then moves around the couch and into the kitchen, soon opening up the fridge and grabbing a couple of beers and a can of that orange soda that Jess is addicted to. Then, he comes back to the two on the couch and hands them their drinks. Jessica smiles at him and says _thank you_ , but Sam just grabs the beer, still staring warily at his older brother.

                “ _You … want_ to move out?” he asks, popping the cap off the top of his bottle.

                Dean nods and then does the same, swigging down half of the liquid as soon as the bottle reaches his lips. He sighs once the foam hits his stomach and then he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yep. Had a lot of time to think and evaluate things. I need to make some changes, Sammy. _Good_ changes. No more runnin’. No more going crazy. I want to get my life together. And besides … sleepin’ on this couch is giving me a permanent crick in my neck.” He snorts a laugh and then clinks the neck of his beer against Sam’s.

                “Well—that’s great, Dean! I’m really glad that we’re all on the same page” Jessica chirps, but she still sounds slightly choked up, like there’s something else on her mind.

                Dean looks at her and then sits down again—worried and wondering now about the scene that he'd originally walked in on. “You … you weren’t crying because of _me_ , right? I mean, I know I’m an absolute _treasure_ to have around, but me moving out shouldn’t be _that_ upsetting.”

                Jess huffs and shakes her head, biting back a reluctant smile. “No, _you nerd_ … that’s not … that’s not what I was upset about.”

                Dean’s joy subsides a bit. “ _Okay_ … so, what else is going on?”

                Jessica shifts awkwardly in her place and then looks away, trying hard now to avoid his eyes. Soon, she’s making strangled, desperate sounds—clearly trying not to cry again.

                _She fails._

                Sam puts down his beer so he can wrap his arms around her once more, pulling her close until she turns and hides in the curve of his shoulder. He gives Dean a sad look before kissing the side of his wife’s head.

                “What is it?” Dean whispers, as if Jess won’t be able to hear him.

                “Just … _tell him_ ” Jess chokes out, muffled and wet.

                Sam sighs and then squeezes her again. “The doctors said that she … she has postpartum depression; as well as PTSD. Ever since the hospital … with what happened …”

                “Oh” Dean mutters. He can’t say that this is too much of a shock; and he figures Sam had to have known too— _to some degree,_ but having it be officially confirmed is something else entirely.

                “After you left—we started talking, and she … she finally told me.” Sam rocks his eyes to the side and gives his brother another look, one that Dean can read all too well. It’s like Sam just put on a slideshow of the last day’s events.

                Dean can see it all so clearly—Jess trying to walk away, trying to keep it all inside herself, but without Dean there as a buffer, Sam could finally pull it all out in the open … everything that she’s been hiding. Everything that has been brought up during those therapy sessions that she’d never talk to her husband about—suddenly, it was all exposed, and it was making sense of everything. Why she still hadn’t been cleared to go back to work yet. The mood swings, the crying … the silence that was so unlike her … it made the entire household feel cold and eerie. It was probably hard for Sam to hear all of it, but it was good that he finally got to. _Now_ , he can help. Now he can ask the right questions and do the right things. He’s not flying blind anymore; and Dean _knows_ —nothing makes his brother more uneasy.

                “We’ve talked and we agreed that I’d start going with her to her counseling appointments; but … she’s still kinda unhappy about it.”

                Jessica thrusts out a laugh and finally emerges from Sam’s hold. “That’s an understatement” she chokes, wiping the tears from her eyes once again.

                Dean sighs and then stands up, soon squishing on her other side so he can hug her to his chest. “I know he’s annoying, but I think soon you’ll find that you’re happy to have him around.”

                Jessica laughs some more and then snakes her thin arms around Dean’s waist. “Yeah … he can be a real pest, can’t he?”

                “Oh, you don’t even know the half of it!”

                “Wow … thanks, you guys” Sam sneers, but there’s an obvious smile hidden in it somewhere.

                Jessica turns and grins his way, quickly freeing one of her arms so she can pull him in too.

                Soon the three of them are entwined together, hugging but quiet—save for the occasional chuckle with how they all must look.

                John’s cries crack through the baby monitor and break apart the silence. 

                “I guess that’s my cue” Jess sighs, eventually breaking free and standing up from the mass of Winchester-limbs.

                Dean and Sam watch her disappear down the hall, and in unison—they both let out a heavy breath and fall backwards against the cushions of the couch.

                “So …” Sam starts, plopping his head down and staring up at the ceiling.

                “So—I guess I gotta start lookin’ for a place.”

                “Guess so” Sam breathes, taking another moment to gather himself. “You’re really okay with this?”

                Dean smiles before joining him in staring at the white popcorn plane above their heads. “Yeah, Sammy … it’s time.”

***

                It didn’t take him long—only about two more weeks and then he was packing up his small amount of things and moving into a one bedroom apartment. It was at the far end of town, right off highway 70 just before it runs off into Kansas City. It’s the more industrial side of things and Dean can’t say it’s his favorite spot; but the rent is cheap, and if he’s going to start saving up for his own shop, _cheap_ is really necessary right now.

                Sam had helped him move his stuff in, and he also helped him pick up some old furniture and appliances that he had found on Craigslist. A lot of people just want to get rid of shit, so they list it for free as long as someone is willing to come by and pick it up themselves. Sam and Dean were _always_ willing, and soon—his small apartment was rather cozy with second hand tables and a decent sized fridge.  He _did_ spend some money on a nice mattress though—one luxury that he was very determined to have.

                Sam lectured him on the unnecessary expenditure but Dean told him—after eight plus months of sleeping on sofas and waiting room chairs, or in the backseat of the Impala, there was no way he was going to pass up the opportunity to have a comfy bed.

                “I need my beauty sleep, Sammy” he had said, fluttering his long lashes as that tall, grumpy moose.

                “ _I’d say_ … you look like shit” Sam agreed, and that’s when Dean kicked the guy’s lanky ass out of his new place so that he could finally be alone.

               

                _It’s strange._

                This is the first time he’s lived by himself in almost two years. Lisa had moved in not long after they’d started dating … which wasn’t Dean’s idea; but she needed some place to stay after the school district laid off over half of their teachers. He hated rushing things, but he couldn’t necessarily let her live out of her car, so he didn’t stop her when she began sleeping over—and soon, her staying didn’t seem so bad.

                His house was always clean.

                A nice meal was always waiting for him every morning and afternoon, and having a _familiar someone_ in his bed every night became something welcome and pleasant. And even after things began to go south— his dad dying only one month after Lisa had moved in, which made Dean’s will to work and provide for them, dwindle into almost nothing; which of course, made his shop suffer … and after all his depression and self-deprecation made their once warm and easy relationship, something tenuous and harsh—Dean _still_ never regretted having Lisa there. He only wished he could’ve told her as much; but he was too busy drinking and feeling sorry for himself to open his mouth.

                And then she was gone.

                And then he lost the shop … and then his house, and then—he stayed on Sam’s couch for a few days before he decided to get the hell out.

                And then … of course, he met Cas.

                So he was never really alone, not until _now_.

                But no matter how strange and terrifying that may be, he knows it’s necessary. This is the first step—living alone, eating alone … sleeping— _alone_. It’s how he’ll finally figure out who he is now and what he needs to do with _himself._

                Dean sighs and sits down on the free armchair that they had picked up from an old lady with way too many cats, making a mental note to buy some fabric deodorizer the next time he’s at the store. Then he leans to the side and fishes his phone from his pocket,  going to Bobby’s number and dialing quickly before he loses his nerve.

                “Dean? It’s been a while … glad ya called before I was dead.”

                Dean laughs. “I thought I’d wait—absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that crap.”

                “Yeah, _well_ —I’m an old man, I don’t got time enough to grow fond of anythin’. What ya callin’ for?”

                Dean silently groans and rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “Well—I’ve been thinkin’.”

                “ _Uh oh_ … how much is this gonna cost me?”

                “Shut up, will ya?” Dean laughs, realizing now how much he’s missed talking to the old coot. He and Bobby used to talk all the time. _When did that stop?_

                “Well, go on—I ain’t got all day” Bobby grumbles, sounding like he’s busying himself with ten other things while keeping his ear pressed to the phone.

                “I _uh_ —I think I want to open another shop” Dean begins, halting his breath when he hears Bobby halt on the other end of the line.

                “Ya do, do ya?” Bobby grunts, not giving any hint to what he’s actually thinking about all this.

                Dean rolls his eyes up and stares out the small window of his apartment. It looks over a construction site and he can see the tall heads of the cranes dangling girders around in the air. “Yeah. But this one’s gonna be different. I actually just want to have a garage—tailored to classic car repairs. You know how all those folks in Kansas City love their classics … so I thought I’d try to tap into that market.”

                A flurry of sighs and mumbling comes from Bobby’s end of the conversation, but no actual words—and it has Dean squirming in his seat.

                “Well—whatcha think?”

                “I think you’re an idjit” Bobby snips, but it doesn’t sound like a serious accusation.

                “Jeez … _thanks_ , Bobby. So glad I called.”

                “Let me finish, boy!” Bobby booms, and Dean settles in place and straightens his posture, as if the man can actually see that he's behaving himself. “I think you’re an idjit for waitin’ so long. I always told ya that you should be workin’ on the classics, considering how well ya did with them back when you’d visit and help me fix up some of the clunkers.” Bobby sighs into the phone, and Dean smiles—because the old man is such a closet-softy, he can’t help it. “I just like how you always take all _my_ good ideas, wait ten years—and then claim as your own. You’re a damn thief, is what ya are.”

                Dean laughs but doesn’t say a thing.

                Bobby continues. “I _suppose …_ I should just be happy you listen _eventually._ You’re just as thick as your daddy was—talented, smart as a whip, but _thick_. I swear … somethin’ bout that Winchester blood. _I dunno_. I just hope Sam’s boy has enough of Jessica in ‘im that he don’t try out so much _stupid_ before he wises up.”

                Dean is busting up now, shaking his head against the face of his phone. “Oh—don’t you worry, Bobby. Little John is already smarter than both Sam and me put together.”

                “Well—that ain’t hard to accomplish.”

                “Hey! You just said I was smart as a whip!”

                “Ya, well … I’m an old man. I must be goin’ senile.”

                Dean snorts and then rolls his eyes, wondering how this grump has kept any employees at all. “So … whatcha say? Can ya help me get this thing off the ground?”

                Bobby just grunts again before picking up whatever he was doing before. “I suppose I could set aside some things to help ya out—but I’m only gonna do it on _one_ condition.”

                Dean leans forward and presses his cell harder into his ear, already nodding before he speaks. “Yeah! Of course, Bobby— _anything_.”

                “Ya need to actually pick up the durn phone and call me every once in a while! None of this: _I’ll text ya_ bullshit. I’m too close to dyin’ to be wastin’ time with smiley faces and _LOL_ s.”

                Dean is busting up once more, swaying happily with the cranes outside. “Yeah—I think I can manage that.”

                The old man mumbles something akin to approval and then sighs heavily into the speaker. “Alright then … now, ya got a business model for me?”

                Dean straightens out yet again and bobs his head needlessly to his sparse room. “ _Yes, sir._ It’s nothin’ official but I think it’s got some weight.”

                Bobby listens quietly as Dean begins to ramble off his ideas, quick and without wasting a breath— because for once, he actually feels pretty damn excited about something. For once, he has some hope for himself.


	34. Years

                He always finds it funny how hours can drag along like they’re on their way to dying, but days race by without even a moment’s notice. It’s like they’re disconnected somehow—competitors running towards the same finish line at the world’s end. Dean’s muscles would always ache come evening-time each day that he’d spend putting his garage together, yet it seemed as if before he had a chance to ease their pains—the thing was already done: new sign outside, shiny tools on the wall, and a fresh, bright blue coat of paint. One day turned into seven months—turned into five years, and then his little garage was turning over a steady profit. He wouldn’t have noticed any of it, really—it all moved too fast; but the only thing that made him stop and reflect on all the time that had passed was the sight of little John, being _not so little_ anymore.

                The kid got his father’s height. He’s only six but he looks closer to nine, and people are always shocked when Jess tells them his age. Thankfully, the boy doesn’t act too old though. He still likes pretending, dressing up in random costumes, sneaking into his parents’ bed when he’s had a bad dream, and snuggling up with his favorite uncle to watch car shows on the weekends that he comes to visit.

                It’s in those moments that Dean realizes just how long it’s been … just how far John has come. It’s astonishing, really—but he’s thankful … thankful that that little boy is strong and healthy, showing no sign of his rough beginnings. Sure, he has an inhaler for asthma, and he still has some faint scars from the surgeries, but it’s nothing that anyone would think twice about. The kid is just a kid, and Dean is just his uncle, and the days just melted away in the wake of it all.

***

                Sam picked him up from his place early Saturday morning so they could go out shopping for Jess’s birthday present. The woman is turning thirty now and she’s not very happy about it. Sam has been freaking out over what to get her, and he’s been so busy with work—he hasn’t had much time to shop. And even though it’s something he should really do on his own, the kid just sucks at buying gifts for his wife, so Dean is always brought along for backup.  The shopping on its own wouldn’t be so bad, Dean thinks— _but Sam has such a douchey car_ , and _that’s_ what they’re taking to go on this little journey.

                “I still can’t believe you own this thing.”

                “It’s a Mercedes, Dean. They’re good vehicles.”

                “Yeah … for old farts who spend all their time golfing and sleeping with their secretaries. I’m embarrassed to even be sitting in it.”

                “I said we could take the Impala, but you didn’t want to.”

                “I need to get her alignment checked. I’m not gonna risk _her_ wellbeing for the sake of _your_ errands.”

                Sam rolls his eyes and smiles before starting up his car. “ _Whatever_. Can we go or do you want to bitch some more?”

                Dean grunts and then buckles his seatbelt, waving his hand towards the road in front of them. “Let’s go. I don’t got all day.”

                “You’re such a jerk” Sam laughs, pressing his foot down on the gas pedal a bit too hard—sending them screeching off the curb in front of Dean’s house.

                “Showing off won’t change my mind!” Dean yelps, holding onto the handle above his head … trying not to let on just how impressed he is by the car’s horsepower. _It’s still lame._

The younger Winchester chuckles some more before easing off the accelerator and slowing down to a much more legal speed. After a few minutes of nearly silent driving—with just Sam’s classical music playing dimly in the background, the guy finally breaks the quiet. “So—Luke was asking about you again.”

                Dean groans loudly and looks out his window, silently debating if they’re going slow enough for him to jump out without risking serious injury. “Not this again!”

                Sam scoffs. “I don’t get it, man. You said you two had a nice time.”

                “Yeah … a _nice_ time. It wasn’t great and it wasn’t awful. I have a nice time with _you_ … doesn’t mean I want to throw you in the backseat and make out!” Dean spits, finally turning his head to glare at the goof beside him.

                Sam twists his lips into a grimace. “Thank God for _that_.”

                Dean snorts and then softly punches Sam’s arm. “Seriously, just let this one go, dude. It’s just not gonna work—he and I got nothin’ in common. I figured we wouldn’t … that’s why I didn’t want you to set me up with one of your coworkers.”

                “Yeah, well … I just thought, since he’s, _ya know_ … a _good looking_ guy and he said he liked cars—”

                “He’s _alright_ looking, and he likes _model_ cars. There’s a big difference there, Sammy.”

                Sam laughs. “He didn’t mention the _model_ -part.”

                “Obviously.” Dean smiles and shakes his head. “I’m sure he’s _someone’s_ type, just not mine.”

                “I know … I just … I worry about you, Dean.” Sam’s voice has tapered from humor, into something more serious and Dean suddenly wishes they were already at the mall, but the damn place is still at least ten minutes away.

                “ _Jesus_ … please, don’t start!”

                “I’m serious, Dean! You spend all day at work, and then you go home to that empty, little house and you do … _what?_ Watch TV? Order take-out? Aren’t you lonely?”

                “I’m fine, Sam!”

                _“Fine_ is not _happy._ I want you to be happy!”

                “I _am_ happy! I love my job! The garage is doing better than it ever has been.  Especially after Charlie got my website up and runnin’, business has been booming! I’m getting calls from three states over, asking me to do work on their cars.” Dean’s chest heaves as he settles atop his soap box. “I just made the final payment on my mortgage, Sam! I only got that house _two years_ ago and it’s _already_ paid off. I’m doing really, really well … why can’t that be enough?”

                His younger brother sighs and stares blankly at the cars ahead of them. “It _can_ be, but I don’t think it is for _you._ I know you, Dean. You like having someone to take care of … that’s when you’re happiest.”

                “I take care of John on the weekends.”

                “That’s not the same thing and you know it.”

                “I’ll get a dog then.”

                “You hate animals.”

                “I don’t _hate_ animals. I just hate their fur, and their shit … and how loud they are.”

                Sam huffs and gives him a look.

                “Fine then! I’ll get a fish!”

                “ _Dean_ …”

                Dean groans before rubbing his hands over his face. “Fuck … Sam, what do you want me to say? It’s not like I _don’t_ date. I go out, I find people—but none of them have really worked for me. I can’t help that. Do you want me to just _pretend_ to be more into someone than I actually am? How is that better?”

                “No, I don’t want you to _pretend …_ I just …” Sam takes a deep breath and then pauses, as if he’s mulling over what else he could possibly say, “what—what about that Erica chick? You seemed to like her. She was pretty nice.”

                Dean chuckles dryly as he taps his fingers across the window button on the side door panel. “She _was_ nice … her boyfriend thought so too.”

                “Oh— _shit_.”

                “Yeah. Guy damn near took my head off when he stumbled across us at the bar.”

                “You didn’t know she was in a relationship?”

                Offended, Dean turns to glare at his brother again. “No! Of course not! My standards ain’t high, Sammy—but I do got _some._ ”

                Sam lifts one of his hands, defensively. “Okay, alright—just asking.”

                Dean then stays quiet a moment, trying to think of some way to break the new tension that’s quickly looping around their necks. “It’s too bad I met _her_ first … her boyfriend was actually hotter.”

                Sam starts to laugh and soon, Dean joins in—and just like that, everything is okay again. “Alright, alright … I’ll leave you and your love life alone” Sam finally says, wiping happy tears from his eyes.

                “Thank you!” Dean spurts, reaching out to pat his brother’s shoulder.

                “But if I come across someone that I think will be a good fit, I’m still gonna give ‘em your number.”

                The mall comes into view just past the next stop light—but to Dean, it’s a shining beacon of hope. “ _Ugh_ – do what you gotta do, Sam.”

                Sam gives him a sly, toothy grin. “Don’t I always?”

***

                Jess and John walked into his shop right in the middle of Dean’s phone call, so he just waves them over before giving them the signal to hold on a minute.

                “ _I get that_ , Charlie—but all I want is to make the title of the website a little bigger. Isn’t there just a button I can push?”

                “It’s really not that hard. I told you, you just log in as the admin, go to ‘edit page’, open the html editor, click on the drop down menu and select ‘find and replace’—type in ‘hashtag-main title’ and then go to where it says ‘font-size’ and change the number from seven to whatever size you think looks best. _Easy-peasy_. Just don’t forget to save the html before you log out. Also, don’t forget to close all your brackets. You can’t have commands just hanging out in the open! Chaos ensues!” Charlie is laughing like everyone in the world would get the apparent joke, but Dean can only stare at the wall with his mouth hanging open. “Dean? Dean-o … ya there?” Charlie finally asks after she goes alone too long in her humor.

                “I don’t see why _you_ can’t just do it” Dean grumbles eventually, closing out of his website and clicking back to his desktop— _the title will just have to stay like it is for now_.

                “I told you … I’m at Comic-Con. Anyway, it’s hard to type with these gloves on … I’m surprised I’m even able to hold onto the phone right now!”

                “Gloves? What do you—” Dean stops himself, remembering the one time Charlie showed up to meet him at the bar, completely decked out in a storm trooper costume. She only took off the helmet when her beer came. “Ya know what, _never mind._ Can you just try to take a look at it when you’re done?”

                “Sure thing, buddy! Oh … gotta go, the William Shatner panel is starting!”

                “Okay whatever. I’ll talk to you—” Dean stops when the line _clicks_ and he knows Charlie is gone. He laughs and shakes his head, pulling away the phone to look at her picture—red hair and bubbly smile, filling up the screen. He _loves_ that girl, even if she’s crazier than coked-out ferret.  Dean puts his cell back down on his desk and finally turns to greet Jess and John properly. “Hey, you two. Wasn’t expectin’ ya.”

                Jessica smiles and then looks down at John, who’s holding her hand and standing up on tippy-toes to see Dean on the other side of the counter. “Yeah, well we had to go out and do some running around, so we thought we’d stop by.”

                Dean smiles, already feeling every bit of annoyance drip away the moment he sees the happy curve of John’s eyes.

                “Hi, Uncle Dean!” the little boy finally shouts, jumping up and down and waving at him, as if there's a chance he's gone unnoticed.

                “Hey, buddy! How was school today? You learn anything cool?”

                “Yeah! I learnt that cows got four stomachs and I learnt more math … but the cow stuff was cooler.”

                With a laugh, Dean gives him a nod. “I get that. Math was never _my_ thing either.”

                “ _But_ —it’s still _very_ important to learn” Jessica snips, giving Dean a heated look.

                Dean clears his throat sterns his expression. “Yeah, _totally_. You gotta learn math, buddy. You don’t want to be the only kid at school who can’t count.”

                “I can count!” John shouts, offended at such a hasty accusation; and then to prove his point, he lets go of Jess’s hand and runs over to the tall rack of manuals that Dean has sitting at the side of the waiting area. “One, two, three, four …” he starts, pointing at the very top row of books, “five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eweven, twelve, thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth—”

                “It’s _teen_ , baby. Remember? Push your tongue against the top of your mouth” Jess corrects, smiling fondly at her son as he looks back at her.

                The boy nods and then continues. “Six _teennnn_ , seven _teennn_ ” he emphasizes, glancing once more at his mom for confirmation.

                Jess approves with a wide grin.

                John carries on counting everything else in the room.

                “So …” Jess soon says, lower now, turning once more to Dean and giving him a look that instantly makes him nervous.

                “ _So?_ ” he parrots, teetering back against his seat, bracing his hands on the edge of the counter as he awaits what’s coming.

                “You know about Sam’s promotion, right?” Jess says, plopping her new purse down onto the wood surface and almost smashing Dean’s hand.

                Dean flinches, now regretting helping Sam pick it out for her. He nods. “Yeah … he told me. What about it?”

                Jess narrows her eyes at him. “So … you _know_ about it then.”

                Dean huffs and nods again. “ _Um_ … that’s what I just said, isn’t it?”

                Jess just shrugs however, and then leans up against the counter's face, turning her head slightly to watch John rush to the other side of the room to count the chairs set up beside the window. “Well, I just want to be sure—because if you _didn’t_ know, then that would explain why you haven’t taken him out to celebrate yet.”

                Dean groans and then drops back onto his swivel stool, spinning back and forth while staring up at the ceiling in exasperation. “Not _this_ again—Jess, the guy gets promoted like every _year_. I’m proud of him, but do we really have to keep making such a big deal about it?”

                “It’s a promotion, Dean” Jessica hisses.

                “Yeah—but _Sam_ didn’t even sound that excited about it when he told me. He’s not even getting a new office or anything. They’re just bumping up his pay and giving him a better parking spot.”

                The thin, blonde woman seems to darken with his words.

                “Hopefully it’s under a big tree or something … hide the doucheyness of his car a bit” Dean adds with a sneer.

                “ _Dean Winchester_ … I would’ve expected more from you” Jess begins, pulling herself upright and snapping her hand to her hip. “Sam works very, very hard and most days, he doesn’t even get home until after nine. On the weekends, he’s exhausted but he still gets up early so he can take John to the park or go with me to run errands. And as much as he enjoys all of that—I know he still misses _you a ton._ Hanging out with his brother is one of his _favorite_ things in the world, but he feels like he needs a reason for it these days … and this promotion _was his reason,_ but you totally blew him off!”

                “I … I didn’t …” Dean stammers, feeling very guilty all of a sudden, even though he didn’t really do anything at all.

                “Don’t tell me you didn’t know! It’s obvious how much that man loves hanging out with you. The least you could do is spare one of your bachelor evenings to make him happy.”

                Dean throws his hands up in surrender—not knowing when the attack started, but he sure as hell knows he lost the fight. “Okay! _Okay, okay_ … I’ll call him tonight after work and set something up.”

                Jessica huffs but then gives him a smile, apparently pleased with her victory.

                “ _Jeez_ , Jess … you act like I never see the guy. I _am_ at your house every Friday for dinner.”

                “Yeah, well … that’s a _family-night_ , not a _guy’s-night_. Sam needs his brother time.”

                Dean beams in spite of his annoyance, because he likes hearing that his oversized, impressive lawyer brother—misses him so much. “Okay, well … I’ll make sure to drown him in all the brother time he can stand. He’ll be sick of it by the time I’m done with him. I’ll give him so much damn brother time, he’ll wish he didn’t _have_ a brother!”

                “Good!” Jessica clucks, but now she’s beaming too and shaking her head at him.

                “Uncle Dean! Look! It’s a Model-T!”

                Dean looks down just as John runs back to the counter, holding up a magazine he pulled off of one of the side tables. The front of the magazine shows a pristine, old Model-T—shiny black and all original. Dean was never big on the historic pieces himself, but his little nephew just couldn’t get enough of them.  He promised to teach the boy about the purity of muscle cars later on, but for now—Dean is just happy that John isn’t like _his father_ and into those foreign, plastic, cheaply made shit-stacks. “Sure is, buddy!” he grins, reaching over the countertop to high-five the little man. “Tell ya what … if you go into the back—I bet Murphy has some more pictures of Model-T’s for ya.”

                Murphy was Dean’s mechanic: an older guy who has been working on classic cars since he could tie his own shoes. Dean found him at a Kansas City car show and they hit it off quickly. The man was quiet, but he was obviously knowledgeable… and he was actually pretty hilarious once Dean got to know him. After meeting up a few more times and talking about what they each were looking for, Dean offered him a job at his garage. Murphy accepted right away and now—two years later, they’re the best classics shop in Kansas; and just like John, Murphy has a soft spot for the historical pieces.

                John is jumping up and down yet again, squealing with excitement. “Yeah! I wanna see!”

                Jessica laughs and then grabs the boy’s hand. “Alright, I’ll take you back there … but we can’t stay long. We still have to go to the post office.”

                John nods but he’s already yanking his mom towards the side door that leads into the garage.

                Dean just laughs as he watches the two disappear out of the room—the closing door, muting John’s excited shouts for Murphy to come and greet him. But just then, the front door-chime jingles with someone else walking in, and Dean looks over to welcome the prospective customer.

                “Hey, man … how ya doin’?” A tall, handsome guy is standing in the middle of the waiting area, not looking back—just letting the door slam behind him.

                “Hey—fine, and yourself?” Dean returns, pausing a moment when he really takes a hard look at the stranger. He seems … _not so strange at all_.

                “Good, good. I actually called ya the other day. You were holding a part for me.”

                Dean thinks a moment and then nods. “Oh, yeah—for the Fairlane 500, right?”

                “Yup, that’s the one.  You’re the only place in the entire midwest that seems to have an original grill.”

                “Well, I got the best supplier— _Bobby Singer_. If ya want, I can give you his number. You can go straight to _him_ next time. Cut out the middle man.”

                The tall customer walks up to the counter and smiles, and for a second, Dean is struck stupid.

 _Damn, he’s pretty._  

                “That’d be great! I’m still trying to get _my_ place off the ground—make it more like what ya got _here_.”

                Dean has to shake himself to stop staring, feeling his cheeks heat up when he finally succeeds. “ _Uh_ , yeah … thanks. Took a few years but I’m happy with how things are goin’.”

                “Well, it looks like they’re goin’ good for ya. People are talkin’. It didn’t take me long to find you. I started askin’ around when this Fairlane rolled into my garage, and … I usually work on more modern stuff, but I thought it might be a fun challenge.  Anyway, when I started callin’ places for parts, it didn’t take long for someone to suggest _you_. Said the drive would be worth it.”

                Dean’s embarrassment moves aside for some pride, and he inflates a little. “Oh yeah? Where ya comin’ from.”

                “Missouri” the man says, gesturing back towards the door—as if the state line is right outside.

                Dean’s tilts his head some, feeling something begin to churn in his stomach. “Oh … and, what—what did you say your name was again?”

                The handsome man grins and then stretches out his hand—strong forearms flexing above the counter. “Jeffery … Jeffery Tatum.”

                Dean’s eyes bust wide as he stares up from the man’s hand and back at his face—his handsome, _too-handsome_ , _GQ-model-looking_ face. 

                The front door jingles again.

                “Jeffery … do you have the car keys? I think I left my phone in—”

                Dean feels his heart seize and his breath seize in his lungs.

                “Dean?” Anna’s voice is barely audible, and it’s more the shape of her mouth that makes him aware of what she said.

                “You know him?” Jeffery asks, turning back to look at the woman with curiosity.

                Anna swallows and then bobs her head slowly, taking a few steps closer until she’s standing at Jeffery’s side. “Yeah … he used to date Castiel.”

                The other man swings back and leans in closer, eyeing Dean up and down like he’s an animal at the zoo. “Oh … _oh yeah!_ I think I remember you! Didn’t you come into Lew’s once?”

                Dean is speechless—still unable to breathe or even _exist_ in this moment.

                “ _You_ met him before?” Anna asks, turning to look up at Jeffery, having to strain her neck some since he’s so tall.

                “Yeah. He came in and pulled Cassy out to talk about somethin’ or other. It was actually pretty funny … Cas told me later that old _Dean_ here was jealous of me.”

                Dean’s face ignites and he _knows_ he has to be bright shade of red by now.

                “ _Jeffery_ ” Anna scolds, whacking him on the arm and giving him a look.

                And that’s when Dean sees it—the wedding band on her hand; and with a swift glance a little lower and to the left, he sees one on Jeffery’s hand as well.

                “I’m sorry … sometimes he doesn’t know when to be quiet” Anna offers—now, trying her best to avoid Dean’s eyes.

                “What? Don’t see what’s so wrong with that … jealousy is normal. Especially when _I’m_ around” Jeffery says with a laugh—puffing out his chest and lifting his chin high in the air, _so cocky_ —Dean finds that he still wants to punch him,  even after all these years.

                Anna just rolls her eyes. “Weren’t you here to pick up a part?”

                Jeffery deflates before nodding, apparently having forgotten all about it. “Oh yeah—where’s it at?”

                Dean takes a few, steadying breaths until he’s finally able to speak again, tilting his head towards the side door to the garage. “Just … just go through there. My mechanic, Murphy can get it for you.”

                “Sweet! Thanks, man!” Jeffery pips, quickly spinning around and walking away to head into the garage.

                Dean and Anna both stare at his back, frozen solid once the side door shuts again— highlighting the fact that _now_ , they’re alone together.

                “So …” Dean starts, still staring at the door, kind of hoping that the tall, cocky bastard will come back in. “You and _him?_ ”

                 He finally turns to see Anna’s cheeks turn as red as her hair. “Yeah … he’s a bit of a _character_ , but he’s actually very sweet.”

                “I’ll take your word for it” Dean hums, trying not to sound _too_ disbelieving.

                Anna gives him a half smile and then takes a moment to look around the room. “It looks like you’re doing well for yourself.”

                Dean relaxes a little, glad that she’s letting his judgement go. “Yeah. Took some time, but I finally got my life together.”

                Anna smiles at him. “I’m happy for you.”

                Another lull in the talk makes Dean tense right back up . “And … _you_ … you’re doing good?”

                Anna just nods, giving him no help at all in relieving the awkwardness.

                And Dean can’t say he’s really surprised. “Still got your bakery?”

                Anna nods again, biting her lip—looking as if she’s trying not giggle.

                “Good … good …” Dean goes on, hating how difficult this is—and hating more how much Anna seems to love making him squirm. _Some things never change._ “So …”

                “Why don’t you just ask me what you really want to ask me, Dean.”

                Dean freezes, gawking at the woman and her fiery hair. “I— _uh_ …”

                “You don’t want to know how he is? What he’s been up to … you don’t want to know _any_ of that?”

                His mouth flaps, but he’s got nothing except hot air.

                “He still thinks about you, you know.”

                _That_ makes Dean feel like he’s been punched in the stomach. “Wh—what?”

                Anna chuckles and then gives him a look to let him know that she’s serious. “It’s true.”

                If he could, Dean would ask her _how_ she knows, but his mouth won’t seem to function properly anymore.

                “Well … I mean, he hasn’t actually _said_ that—but I know he does.”

                He wasn’t expecting it, but his heart sinks. “Oh” he finally mutters, thinking now that the woman is just being a presumptuous older sister … coming to conclusions she has no evidence for—just liking to think she has a handle on everything. After all, Dean does the exact same shit with Sam.

                “Really! It’s true! I know he still thinks about you!” Anna insists, eyeing Dean hard and pushing herself up against the edge of the counter. “I mean, it’s not like he’s been a monk or anything. He’s dated … _quite a few_ guys actually, but he just hasn’t seemed to really _care_ about anyone since you two broke up.”

                Dean sighs and shakes his head, sitting back onto his stool—feeling dejected and already exhausted from this conversation. “I doubt that” he says, looking over at his computer screen—thinking that all the html-crap that Charlie was talking about, is still preferable to _this_.

                “I know these things, Dean. I know my brother … he really liked you.”

                “And _I_ really liked him, but we were too different. It’s why we broke up.”

                Anna scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Now _that’s_ not true.”

                Dean scrunches his brows together. “How would you know?”

                “Because—like I said before, _I know my brother_. He got in his own way and you probably let him. You both seem to be a bit fatalistic in my opinion.”

                “No offense, Anna—but you barely even know me.”

                “I know enough.”

                Dean glares at the woman, remembering now just how bossy and nosy she could be—and he almost smiles when he recalls just how much that would drive Cas _crazy_. _He looked so cute when he went crazy._

                Anna groans and then props her elbows up onto the counter—soon, folding her hands over themselves and leaning in, as if she’s preparing to tell Dean a secret. “Look— _Dean_ , I’m not one to meddle …”

                It’s Dean’s turn to scoff now.

                “Whatever—all I know is, Castiel never forgot about you. My brother is smart and he’s talented and lord knows, _he’s loyal_ … but he’s also a bit of an idiot when it comes to his own wellbeing.”

                “And?” Dean says, because he already knows all this—but _knowing_ didn’t change a damn thing.

                “And … you two were good together! He was happier when you were around. And—I think if our dad hadn't of died when he did, you two might _still_ be together.”

                Dean laughs dryly and turns away, not knowing how to even start explaining all this—not even sure if he should. This really isn’t any of Anna’s business. “Your dad passing away _didn’t_ end things. They were over long before that. Cas … Cas just wasn’t ready for a relationship, and honestly—I wasn’t either. It just didn’t work.”

                Anna cocks an eyebrow at him. “Is that so?”

                “Ya … I just wasn’t what he wanted.”

                “Then why does he still have your picture?”

                Dean snaps his head back to the woman standing across from him, and he feels like all the color in the room has faded, leaving only that bright red hair of hers to burn into his retinas. “Wh – what picture?”

                Anna grins. “The picture of your two at Mount Rushmore.”

                The memory makes Dean’s skin prickle with sweat and chills.

                “I saw it a few month ago. My car broke down when I was coming back from a catering job. Cas came and picked me up in his tow truck.”

                “He’s still driving the tow truck?” Dean jumps in, instantly kicking himself because that’s hardly important right now.

                Anna gives him a look like she’s thinking the same thing. “Well—not all the time like he was. He actually _owns_ Lew’s now, so he doesn’t do the tows. He’s got someone for that; but since it was _me_ —he took the job himself.”

                “He _owns_ Lew’s? What happened to Lew?” Dean knows he really needs to focus here, but now he has so many damn questions, he just can’t seem to help himself.

                Anna’s face falls flat at that moment. “Lew—passed away two years ago. He had a heart attack while working on a car. It was … it was very hard on Castiel.”

                Dean nods and looks down at his feet as they bounce along the wrung of the stool. “That sucks. Lew was a good guy.”

                “Yes … a _very_ good guy. He left the shop to Cas in his will.”

                Dean peers at Anna again with a bit of shock. “Really? _Wow._ How did he handle that?”

                The woman shrugs once more and then goes quiet, as if she’s trying to find the best way to explain everything. “He had a tough time with it at first. He didn’t think he deserved it, or … he didn’t think he could do the job—I don’t know which; but Lew obviously wanted him to have the place so he couldn’t necessarily turn it down. He’s thriving there now though. His accounting background and then his love for cars made him the perfect fit.”

                Dean smiles to himself and shuts his eyes a moment, letting the truth in those words wash over him. That _would be_ the perfect fit for Castiel—the organization, the planning, the numbers and the charts … it must be like heaven for the guy.  “Yeah. I could see him really enjoying all that.”

                “He does” Anna confirms, smiling just as fondly with the thought. “He’s a licensed mechanic now too—but he still has a few other mechanics on the payroll who do most of the repair work.”

                With a peek back towards the side door, Dean thinks about _Jeffery_ and how he used to be one of those mechanics … one of the ones who was teaching Cas what’s what.

                Anna chuckles and then continues on, like she just read his mind. “Jeffery left Lew’s not long after Cas took over. That was always his plan though. He wanted to start his own garage—something a bit more fit for _today’s_ standards. He likes the sound systems and the intricate paint jobs and things like that. The customers that come to Lew’s were never really into that sort of thing.”

                Dean wrinkles up his nose. “ _Ew_ , really? And you married someone who wanted to do all that?”

                Anna reaches across the counter and whacks him on the arm, but she’s laughing all the while. “Hey! Like I said before, he’s actually very sweet. A bit of a dork—a bit too into how he looks—overambitious and … _yeah_ , he can get pretty annoying sometimes, but he’s still sweet. And he makes me happy, so don’t you start acting like you’re better than him!”

                Dean chuckles before swiveling back and forth on his stool once again. “Alright, alright … _sorry_. I won’t say another word.” He stops swiveling a moment and then peeks back at her from the corner of his eye. “Plus … the guy _is_ hot as hell, so I can’t really fault you for fallin’ for him.”

                It takes a second but Anna blushes—giggling and looking away. “Yeah—he is kinda cute, isn’t he?”

                “I wouldn’t kick him outta bed” Dean says with a sigh.

                “So … you _were_ jealous of him way back then?” Anna asks, making Dean blush a little too.

                “Well— _yeah._ I didn’t really like going to visit my boyfriend, only to find him getting all greasy with Mr. Abercrombie and Fitch!”

                Anna laughs but she seems to billow up with some pride. “Well, you shouldn’t have worried—Jeffery is about as straight as they come.”

                “Cas said the same thing.” Dean quiets soon after that, feeling a rush of sadness as the fond memory snaps to a close.

                Anna stays silent too, looking him over with newly concerned eyes. “You never let me finish my story” she says finally, making Dean rock out of his haze.

                “ _Hm?_ ”

                “About the picture … he keeps it in the old tow truck.”

                The image of that rattling, old rusty beast fills up his mind to the edges, and he can’t help but smile.

                “They rarely ever use it—it’s not very reliable anymore, I guess; but I think it was the only one available when my car broke down.” Anna looks over her shoulder at the side door and waits a moment; like she’s worried someone will come in and interrupt her story again. “I was just sitting in the cab, waiting for Cas to finish hooking my car up to the truck—and I flipped down the visor above the steering wheel so I could use the mirror. The picture just fell out. It was of the two of you, standing in front of Mount Rushmore … you were … _kissing_ each other. I never knew where you two had gone when Cas just disappeared that day. I was mad at him for a long time for just running away like that, but when I saw that picture … when I saw how happy he looked … I wish he _hadn’t_ have come back. I wish he would have stayed out on the road with you. I’ve never seen my brother look as relaxed as he did in that picture. It was like … it was like it wasn’t even _him_. He was brand new.”

                It’s too much—too much all at once. For so many years Dean has chugged along on assumptions—assumptions that what he and Cas had was more one-sided than anything. The loss he felt was all his own, and he thought that maybe it was _a good thing_ he forgot those pictures on the curb that day. They were no longer around to remind him—to break his heart over and over again. He assumed that those photos and his duffle bag were all long gone—tossed into a dumpster somewhere or picked up by someone with nothing better to do; but it turns out, _Castiel_ had picked them up. Cas took Dean’s duffle bag and looked inside—he saw the pictures, he _kept_ the pictures … and then he carried one around with him on the job. It seems so unreal. So unlikely. What he and Cas had—Dean assumed was in the past; but apparently, Cas didn’t feel the same way. He carried what they had _with him_ —one day to the next, keeping it in the present, keeping it close. Dean was wrong—so very wrong, and he remembers now just why he should _never_ assume anything.

                The side door flings open once more and Jeffery comes sauntering in, laughing and holding a shiny Fairlane grill in his hands. “Oh man, that little kid in there is hilarious!”

                Dean forces a half-smile, but he’s still reeling from the previous conversation.

                “Kid?” Anna asks, not sounding very interested and still looking at Dean.

                “Yeah. This kid is like a little Model-T _enthusiast_. He knows everything about ‘em. He was talkin’ my ear off.”

                Dean takes a deep breath and tries to bring himself back into the moment. “Yeah. That’s my nephew, John.”

                “Well, that lil' guy sure knows his stuff. Pretty impressive.”

                With a smile, Dean stands up again. “Thanks— _uh_ , you want me to ring that up for you?”

                Jeffery looks down at the grill in his hands, almost like he’s surprised he’s still holding it. “Oh, yeah! Please!” He slides it onto the counter so Dean can get to work.

                Soon enough, money is exchanged and receipts are printed out and Jeffery and Anna are all set to leave. “Thanks for comin’ in” Dean says shakily, raising a hand to wave at the pair. Jeffery grins and bounds happily towards the door, but Anna only nods and gives Dean one last, sad look before she turns to follow her husband out.

                “It was good talking to you, Dean” she says from over her shoulder.

                “You too” Dean offers, watching her as she takes a single step outside … but something about her actually leaving makes him panic. “Anna—wait!”

                Anna stops and turns again, watching him wearily as Dean comes out from around the counter and meets her at the door.

                “Can you … can you _not_ tell Cas that you saw me?”

                The sad look in the woman’s eyes only gets sadder. “If—if that’s what you want, then I won’t say a word.”

                Dean smiles before giving her a quick, sideways hug. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

                Anna smiles back, albeit—weakly, and then moves along to meet Jeffery at their car.

                Dean watches them both get in and then quickly pull away—pieces of his past bouncing off the face of his present; and he wonders if they’ve always been this close to one another. Is he still living in the life he thought he left behind?

                And— _if so_ … what does he need to do about it?


	35. Reality

There was a day a while back, when Jessica was still in therapy and Sam was still working his way up the ladder—and Dean hadn’t even signed the lease to his garage space yet; a day when he thought that he might just go back on the run—pick up where he’d left off with his roadtrip to nowhere.

                It was the closest he’s come to running again in the last five years, but if he’s being honest with himself—he had good reason for it that time. He’d been saving for months, pinching every penny and eating only one meal a day, just trying to scrape together a down payment for the garage; but then his bank called with a fraud alert. Someone had stolen his account information, and all the money that he’d saved up for the last year and a half, _was gone_ —spent on a Jacuzzi tub and two thousand dollars’ worth of brand new shoes. The bank assured him that they’d be able to get the money back once they completed an investigation, but Dean had absolutely no faith in their ability.

                If they could get the money back, then why couldn’t they have kept it in his account in the first place?

                He went over to Sam and Jess’s to gripe about his sorry situation—but when he got there, an ambulance was parked out front.

                Jess had overdosed on a cocktail of pills— some of which, were the anti-depressants that were supposed to be helping her feel better.

                Sam was a wreck.

                John was scared and still too young to understand why his mommy wasn’t moving.

                And Dean _wanted_ to run.

                More than anything in the world, he wanted to run away—but what kind of man would he be if he did?

                So he stayed.

                Thankfully, Jess took ibuprofen along with everything else in her medicine cabinet and _that_ actually made her throw up—which saved her life. And after being in the hospital for two weeks due to a suicide watch, and after another three months of intensive therapy and some trial and error with new medications, Jessica began to smile again. She started playing with John again. She started kissing Sam again—holding his hand, and complaining when he spent more time working at the office than he did with _her_.

                And again … Dean was thankful that he _didn’t_ run.

                And it wasn’t long after that that the bank retrieved all of his money, and he was finally able to sign on the dotted line and get his garage. It was a hellish few months but Dean was damn proud of himself for sticking around. It’s what made him finally realize that he’d grown as a person.

 

                Well—he _thought_ he had ... until he got _here._

_Was this running?_

                _This is a bad idea._

Five years is a long time. So much can happen—so much _did_ happen. 

                Dean swipes his fingers back and forth across the screen of his phone, making the little icons dance around the glass.

                _What am I thinking?_

                He should be at home getting those inventory lists checked out—and he needs to order all those new brake pads. Plus, he’s supposed to be taking John to the county fair this weekend, so he needs to dig through those boxes in his garage and find his tennis shoes. He’s not walking around hell and back in his work boots; especially while chasing a six year old. Really, there’s just so much on his plate right now—yet, _he’s here_ … being an idiot.

                _Maybe I haven’t changed._

Maybe he _is_ still living his old life; he’s just added on new layers so he can’t really recognize it anymore. Maybe he’s still the same old fool that he was way back then … _taking off on a whim, taking stupid chances, not thinking about the consequences or what anything really means._ He thought he had learned by now, but— _obviously not._

If Sam knew that he was here, he’d be lecturing him to death … and Dean wouldn’t blame him one bit for it. 

                 _I must be out of my mind._

                He looks back down at his phone and opens up the web browser again—scanning over the results of his last search.

                There’s a link to a phone number … Dean presses it.

                The line is ringing before he puts his cell up to his ear, and he considers hanging up about a thousand times in the two seconds it takes for someone to answer.

                “Lew’s Auto Repair, this is Abigail speaking—how can I help you?”

                Dean pulls the phone away again and stares it, not having any idea of what to do now … he’s not even really sure what he was expecting, but the sound of this girl’s voice threw him completely.

                “Hello? Is anyone there?”

                Dean clears his throat before finally putting the cellphone back to the side of his head.

                “Hellooo?”

                “ _Uh_ —yeah, hey” Dean strangles out.

                “ _Ah_ —hello, sir. How can I help you today?”

                “ _Um_ … well …” Dean panics. _Just stick with the plan, Winchester._ “My car broke down. I need a tow.”

                “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, sir; but we can certainly help you out. Where did you break down?”

                “ _Um_ … about twenty miles outside of town on highway 24. Mile marker eighty two.”

                “Okie dokie. I can send someone right over.”

                “Who?”

                “Excuse me?” the girl asks, sounding surprised by the question.

                “Who are you sending over?”

                “Oh—our driver’s name is Austin. He’s a good serviceman, very efficient.”

                “ _No_ ” Dean grunts, not liking the idea of ' _Austin'_ at all.

                “Sorry?” Abigail jumps in again, becoming less and less accommodating by the second.

                “I mean … I don’t want _him_. Is … is Cas there?”

                There’s a long pause and then a heavy breath tumbles through the speaker. “You mean, _Mr. Novak?_ Yes … he’s here.”

                Dean relaxes and explodes all at once. “Great! I want _him_ to do the tow.”

                Another pause. “I’m—I’m sorry, sir. He doesn’t really do those. I promise, Austin is very professional. He’s been with us for over two years now.”

                “No! I … I mean …” Dean groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. _This is not going smoothly at all._ “I’ve just worked with Cas before, and he knows how to take care of me— _my baby_ … _uh_ … I mean, _my car_. He knows— _yeah_.” _You’re a fucking idiot, Winchester._

Abigail goes silent again, and Dean imagines she’s probably rolling her eyes, or silently cussing him out, or any other number of unsavory things that he completely deserves. “ _Sir_ … I don’t know when you last worked with him, but to my knowledge, Mr. Novak never drove the tow trucks.”

                “He used to” Dean says dreamily.

                “Well—I just—”

                “Can you ask him?”

                “Pardon me?”

                “Can you ask him to take this one … just this once?”

                “You … you want me to ask _my boss_ to go out … and do the job that he’s hired _other_ people to do?”

                Dean huffs a placating laugh. “ _Yeah_ —if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

                The girl lets out a whine. “ _Um_ — _I guess_ … I can _ask._ Let me put you on hold.”

                The call quiets and soon—jaunty, crackling music plays into his ear. Dean inhales deeply and then exhales into the warm, open air. The sun is creeping closer to the horizon and there’s a flock of birds flying across the highway, but not another car can be seen. It’s just like it was the first time around— _just as empty, just as frustrating,_ but now … Dean knows what’s coming.

At least, he _hopes_ he does.

This was all so epic in his head—the entire drive over, he played it out like a movie in his mind, complete with a kickass soundtrack and a perfect script. But the reality is far less impressive.

                _I’m such an idiot._

“Sir?” Abigail’s voice surprises him and Dean stands straighter, nodding before he actually answers.

                “Yes—I’m here.”

                “My boss is asking for your name.”

                “My name?”

                “ _Um_ … _yeah_. You said you did business with him before?”

                “Oh yeah …” Dean panics again. _I can’t tell ‘em my name! He may not come!_ “ _Uh_ … it’s … it’s … Fred.” His voice kicks upwards at the end, making him sound like he’s not really sure.

                “Fred? Fred _what_?”

                “Fred … _Savage_.” Dean immediately yanks the phone away from his face and flails his arms angrily in the dusty, Missouri evening. _You fucking moron! Fred Savage? Really? You fucking, stupid, fucking, mother fucking—_

“Like … the guy from the Wonder Years?”

                Dean barely hears her due to his rage-spasms, but he composes himself just in time to pull his cell up again and answer. “Yeah—but _no_ … no relation.”

                Abigail snorts in disbelief. “ _Um_ —yeah, okay. Hold on”

                Dean can hear her voice fade as she mumbles something to someone else in the background; and then he freezes when he hears that intoxicating, unforgettable rumble come back in response.

                “Okay … well, _uh_ , I’m sorry _Mr. Savage_ , but Mr. Novak doesn’t really remember you. Would you like to speak with him?”

                “ _No!_ ” Dean yelps, now staring wide eyed into the distance. “I mean … _no_ , it’s fine. Just—can he do the job or not?”

                The girl growls slightly and then puffs once more into the receiver. “ _Hold on_.” Her voice dwindles again and once again, Dean hears the deep cadence of _Cas’s_ voice, answer her question—but his words are indecipherable. “Okay … he says he can come out if no one else will do.”

                “ _They won’t_ ” Dean confirms, almost laughing at the scope of his reply.

                “Okay.  Well— _oh_ …” Cas’s bass-filled hum interrupts her thought and Dean presses the phone to his ear to try and hear what he’s saying, but just then, Abigail speaks once more. “Mr. Novak would like to know what type of car you have. He might remember the car more than he recalls your name.”

                _Fuck yeah, he’d remember the car,_ Dean thinks with some pride, but then stutters a second while searching for an actual answer. “It’s a—Plymouth” he finally churns.

                “It’s a Plymouth” Abigail repeats to her boss, but the tone of Cas’s voice sounds displeased with that. “Nope … he still doesn’t remember.”

                “That’s okay. Just send him out here.”

                With a sigh, Abigail fusses against the phone a moment longer. “Okay, he can be there in about twenty minutes. Is that alright?”

                “That’s perfect. Thank you so much.”

                “You’re very welcome … _Mr. Savage_. Have a good day.”

                “Yeah you too. Thanks.”

                Abigail hangs up and soon, he’s alone with his thoughts once again, and just like before—he only has the doubts:

                _This is a bad idea._

_What am I doing?_

                _Is this running?_

It looks the same—but it doesn’t _feel_ the same. He _does_ want to go back home, but at the same time—he can’t make himself leave until he at least talks with Castiel. What Anna said earlier today really turned him on his head. If there’s even a chance that the man _is_ still thinking about him, still holding onto whatever it was that they had— _missing him,_ then Dean should at least acknowledge that, shouldn’t he? After all, the guy wasn’t just some fling … he wasn’t some drunken mistake or heated moment of lust. Cas _meant_ something. Dean wanted to be with him all those years ago—but life got in the way.

                Like Anna said, they got in _each other’s_ way.

                But time changes everything … Dean _has_ grown.

                He _is_ different now.

                _No_ , this isn’t running … this is tying up a loose end that’s been fraying in the wind for years.

                If Cas doesn’t want him, then he can chalk all this up to nostalgia; but _… if there’s a chance …_

                Dean sighs and settles against the bumper of the Impala—arms folded, eyes squinting against the setting sun as he stares up the highway.  Minutes pass without anyone or anything passing him by. He shifts from one foot to the other. He checks his watch over and over. The distance is waving in out of focus, but _still_ —he seems to be the only living thing on this road.

                _Until he isn’t._

                His knees buckle when he sees something appear at the edge of the earth—he can’t tell the shape, or the color—just that it’s _there,_ and it’s getting closer. It’s getting larger.

                His heart is beating faster.

                _It’s him._

_It has to be him._

It’s wholly terrifying but at the same time, Dean is shaking with excitement. This was the part of the plan that he was looking forward to the most— _the arrival._ Cas pulling up in his truck, looking at Dean through the windshield … tilting his head to the side in that _oh-so-adorable_ way of his. And then, he’ll jump out of the cab and walk up to him, and after that … _well_ , Dean has no fucking clue; but everything up to that point would be _gold_ and Dean doesn’t want to miss a single second of it.

                The thing in this distance is much closer now and Dean can clearly make out the blue coloring and the tow hitch on the back. The loud rumble of the diesel begins to vibrate the asphalt below his feet, giving an extra jolt to Dean’s already shivering nerves.

 _It is Cas ..._ and he’s speeding down the highway like a freaking mad-man.

                _That’s weird._

Only a hundred feet away now and Dean holds his breath, letting it out in a yelp when the truck swerves to the other side of the road, squealing to a stop just a few feet in front of him. Dust and pebbles fly everywhere, to the point that Dean is coughing too much in the clouds to even notice the engine shutting down or Castiel, getting out of the truck.

                “I knew it!” a voice thunders through the haze, and Dean has to wave the dust away with his hands before he can even brave opening an eye.

                “Cas?”

                “Of course! _You_ insisted it was _me_ who come to your rescue, correct?”

                He sounds angry … this isn’t how he thought it’d go at all. “Well … _yeah_ …” Dean wheezes, choking even more when the man’s image finally clears in the clearing air.

                “Fred Savage? A Plymouth? _Really, Dean?_ ” Castiel’s head is cocked to the side, but it’s not quite as cute as Dean had remembered it being.

                “I … I panicked.”

                The man’s nostrils flare and he pulls his hands to his hips before looking out to the planes at their right. “As soon as Abigail told me where the breakdown was, my first thought was _you_ …” his voice is low and straining, “but I _knew_ that that was a crazy notion. People breakdown on this highway all the time; but when she said that the customer insisted that _I_ be the one to come out—when she said that they would not speak to me directly—and when she said they sounded like a strange, goofy man who was obviously lying about his own name, _I knew_. I knew it had to be you.”

                Dean wants to cut a hole into his own stomach and crawl inside himself just so he won’t have to look Castiel in the eye anymore. “I just … I …”

                “Why, Dean? It’s been over _five years_. Why would you go to all this trouble? If you wanted to see me, why not call? Why not just come straight to the shop? Or my home? Why this ruse?”

                He’s at a loss, so he just shoves his hands into his pockets, quickly dropping his eyes to the ground and clearing his throat over and over.

                “ _Dean?_ ”

                “I’m … _I’m sorry_ … it was stupid for me to do all this.”

                Cas groans and then takes a step closer. “Stupid or not, I want to know _why_?”

                “It’s nothing, I—I’m sorry.”

                “For goodness sakes, Dean! Just _tell me!_ ”

                “I talked to Anna, okay?” Dean finally spits out, glaring once and for all into the man’s heated blues—instantly getting that rush he always used to get every time he looked into them before; but it's faintly soured by this moment.

                Castiel takes a step backwards again as he scans Dean up and down. “Anna? How—why? When?”

                “She—she came into my shop today … with that cocky-ass husband of hers. He was looking for a part … it was a complete coincidence, but … she talked about you. Got me thinkin’ I guess.” Dean inches back as well, until he’s leaning once more against the bumper of the Impala. “Ya know how dumb I get when I try n’ think.”

                With a roll of his eyes—a slim smile pulls across Castiel’s teeth, making him seem harsh and aged, like the weathered rocks lining the asphalt. “ _Anna_ …” he growls, deep and angry, gurgling in the back of his throat. “How does she always seem to be behind these things?”

                “She didn’t do anything” Dean adds on, feeling kind of bad that he just threw the woman under the bus. After all,  she wasn’t planning on seeing him … like he said, it was all a coincidence. “We just caught up.”

                “Caught up? Is that what you’re calling it?” Cas snips coldly.

                “ _Yeah—it is_ ” Dean snips back, feeling a little too attacked now. “Look … I’m sorry that I called you out here, okay? I just thought it’d be funny … _or cute_ … or romantic or some bullshit like that, _I don’t know_. The last thing I wanted to do though, is piss you off, so— _I’ll go_. I’m sorry for wasting your time _yet again!_ ” Dean seethes a moment longer before shoving himself off of Baby’s hood—fully prepared to get back behind her wheel and tear away with his tail between his legs; but Castiel reaches out and grabs his wrist, stopping him from getting that far.

                “ _Dean_ …” he says more gently now, and the grit seems to have been swept from his irises—leaving them clear, soft and kind, like they always were in Dean’s memories, “I … I don’t want you to _leave_.” Cas sighs, quickly dropping his hold on Dean’s arm and stepping away once more. “I just would like an explanation. What did Anna tell you to make you … to make you come _here_ … after all this time?”

                Dean shuts his eyes—nervous over what he should say. Just like always, he can’t predict how Cas will react … it’s what excited him the most when they first met, and it’s what scared him to death when they were falling apart. Now—he feels like they’re doing both all over again, and every syllable he utters could push the man over the edge. Yet, with another sigh, Dean finally decides to speak—knowing that he truly lost Cas a long time ago, so it would be impossible to lose him _any_   _more_. “She told me … she said that you …” he peeks open a brief moment, watching as Castiel leans in to hear what he has to say, “she said that you kept the picture … the one of us at Mount Rushmore. You keep it in the old tow truck.”

                The look of surprise on Cas’s face, brings one about on Dean’s. “I—I forgot I had left that in there” Cas says flatly, knocking all of Dean’s hope, face down in the dirt.

                “Oh” he whispers, turning away to try and hide how crushed he is. It makes sense—Cas probably stuck that photo into the visor the same day that he found it … a moment of weakness; or perhaps—the only moment he truly missed Dean before he forgot about him altogether. He stuck the photo there and then never looked at it again. The years passed and the truck was used less and less, and soon—it was all just history—rusted and obsolete.   _Nothing more._  “I thought … _yeah_ … okay.” Dean forces a chuckle and then frees a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Well … guess I just jumped to conclusions. Sorry. I must look like a real sap right now.” He bites his lip before putting his hand back into his pocket, feeling for his car keys and hoping that he can make a smooth exit. Just a few more pleasantries and then he can be on his way, _for real_ this time.

                “ _Dean_ ” Castiel whispers, stopping Dean from moving yet again. The man then takes a deep breath and looks around them, as if he's worried someone could be watching—and then he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. “I _did_ forget that that photo was in the old tow truck” he mutters, cheeks beginning to tint red and pink, like the clouds above their heads, “but I _didn’t_ forget about the one I keep in here.”

                Dean looks down just as Castiel pulls a folded picture from one of the inserts behind his billfold. The edges are warn and slightly browned, but the ink of the image still holds all its colors—deep blacks, tans and greys, blue and green, pink cheeks … all unfolded and open for him to see. Warily, Dean takes the photograph when Castiel pushes it towards him, and he looks it over with shock and wonder. “You … _kept_ this?”

                Castiel’s neck is turning red now too, and he nods quickly—avoiding Dean’s eyes as he does.

                “You _keep_ this in your wallet?” Dean expands, shuffling his feet closer and pushing his body closer to Castiel’s.

                The man nods again.

                “ _Why?_ ” Dean finally asks, turning the question back on the other man while finding that he’s grinning now—he can’t help it.

                Castiel shrugs, making his posture shift so he appears awkward in that pristine, white, buttoned shirt that Dean _just now_ realized he’s wearing. “I just … really enjoy thinking about that day.”

                Dean grins even wider as he turns the photo over in his hands, letting the setting sun glint off the gloss.

                “I suppose—I am also _a sap_.”

                Dean laughs, careful not to wrinkle the photo with his fit. “Oh man— _yeah_ , that' _s_ pretty sappy, alright!”

                Castiel’s face heats up once again as he balls his fist at his side. “At least _I_ didn’t drive over two hundred miles just to stage a fake breakdown in order to meet up with you!”

                His laughs quickly temper. “Touché” Dean smiles, inching in a little further now. “We’re _both_ a couple of saps.”

                Castiel grunts. “Yes … it would seem like that is the case.”

                “So … what do a couple of saps do now?” Dean asks, feeling more confident with the photo in his hand, taking a chance and reaching out his other—letting his fingers glide down the side of Castiel’s wrist.

                The other man turns his head and watches Dean continue to touch him, but he doesn’t pull away—he simply stares, like it’s the greatest wonder to ever meet his eyes. “Well ...” Cas starts, his voice ragged and low, "if we're repeating history, the next logical step would be to book a room at Maggie's."

                After a few blinks,  Dean stops caressing the guy’s arm. “Maggie’s? That place is still open?”

                Castiel looks up, surprised as squints at him. “ _Yes_. Why wouldn’t it be?”

                Dean shrugs. “I dunno … just thought Mrs. Mason would’ve been retired by now— _or dead_.”

                “Maggie Mason will _never_ die” Cas says plainly, like this is a simple fact and everyone in the world should know it.

                “Apparently” Dean laughs, only to stop a second later when he realizes with sudden and horrifying clarity that— _he just cock-blocked himself_. “But _uh_ … we can get a room there … if ya want” he coos, doing his best to recover the mood.

                But Castiel simply drones on, obviously still stuck on the topic of the old woman, not paying any mind to Dean’s pathetic and aching attempts. “Gabriel says the woman sold her soul at a crossroads. I never knew what that was supposed to mean”

                Dean sighs, but soon his mind wanders too. “Gabriel, _huh?_ He stuck around this time?”

                Castiel smiles fondly and then nods while taking the photo back from Dean's grasp and returning it to his wallet. “Yes. He’s actually running our father’s company now. He purchased the rest of the shares with his inheritance and savings. It would seem he finally found his niche.”

                Dean lets out a long whistle. “ _Damn_ —Gabriel’s running the company? How do ya feel about that? Wasn’t that kind of _your_ dream?”

                The other man softly shakes his head before moving around Dean’s side and leaning himself against the front of the Impala— _comfortable_ and _easy_ , just like he always used to. “It was my dream when I was a boy; but after I lost my mother, I let go of those desires. I could never work in that place after that—it’s nothing but a painful reminder.”

                “Yeah, I get it” Dean frowns, figuring that since the sexy moment is gone, he should at least be appreciative of having this _comfortable_ _one_. With a side step, he settles in beside Castiel and folds his arms across his chest, looking out beyond the tow truck parked in front of them and into the distance, now fading into black. “I felt that way when I had to go back to the hospital where my mom had died.”

                Castiel turns and peers at the side of Dean’s head. “Why did you have to go back there?”

                He could almost laugh, but then Dean pauses, suddenly realizing that he never shared any of what happened all those years ago with Castiel. Everything fell apart with them too quickly for him to get the chance. “Well …” he starts, licking his lips and shifting against Baby’s grill, “remember Sammy?”

                Castiel stiffens, tilting forward while suddenly looking very concerned. “Your brother? _Of course_ —did something happen to him?”

                Dean smiles and waves his hand once through the air, hoping that it’s enough to calm the guy’s worries. “Not to him— _his wife_. It was actually … the _uh_ —the day you left me in that motel. I got a call that something had gone wrong with her and the baby. They were in the hospital for months. Thankfully, they’re both fine now, but—that’s the reason I didn’t chase after you sooner.” Dean watches Cas from the corner of his eye—gauging the guy’s reaction and debating whether or not he should go into any more detail.

                “I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

                Dean shrugs. “I didn’t tell you, so—I wouldn’t expect you to know.”

                “But still—you were going through something, and I didn’t even—”

                “ _Cas_ ” Dean sighs, finally turning to look at the man directly. The breeze swirls between them and ruffles Cas's hair, which is now graying at the edges. _Adorable._ “We were both going through shit, okay? Things that neither of us could do anything about. It was … _well_ , it was just a crappy situation all around.”

                “Yes—yes it was” Cas confirms. His eyes, glazing over with all the bad memories. "But that's no excuse for how I treated you."

                The man's words are too quick to the heart of the matter, and it makes Dean's chest tighten, so he looks to the ground and swallows hard. "It's fine. It's in the past."

                "It's _not_ fine. I never properly apologized. Our last conversation after my father's funeral just wasn't enough." Castiel pulls in a deep breath as he sinks even lower against the Impala, weighted down by either guilt or exhaustion— Dean can't be certain of which. "I began going to therapy after that day ... _Anna's idea_ ; but I must admit, it made me learn a lot about myself. I learned that I was compartmentalizing.  I was pushing down all the rage and hurt, pretending that I was alright ... and as long as I stuck with that routine, I _was_ alright. But then _you_ came along, and I couldn't contain it anymore. You ended up getting the brunt of years and years worth of anger, and you didn't deserve that."

                His heart is punching at the inside of his ribs now, screaming and desperate— but Dean can't do a thing to appease its fury.

                "I am so very sorry, Dean."

                He clears his throat and nods, doing what he can to will away the lump that's currently choking him. "Well, I'm just glad you seem to be doing better now. _You_ didn't deserve all that shit, either."

                Several silent seconds pass them by, forcing Dean to finally glance back from the dirt and up to his right. Castiel is looking him over, with something akin to a pleasant kind of surprise.  "I didn't deserve _you_ " he mutters, as if he's actually talking to himself. "You were always too good for me. I ... I suppose I was just so excited to finally have something _good_ in my life, that I chose to hold on to it. It was selfish of me, but I didn't want to let you go ... not until I had to."

                His mind blanks. His lips part, but Dean has absolutely no words to move past them.

                Yet, Castiel doesn't seem to notice— he just smiles before eventually turning away, looking across the fields as they tuck themselves in for the night. "I often wish that I didn't _have_ to let go ... that's why I keep the picture. It helps me imagine what it could have been like, if I hadn't been so ... so broken ... maybe we could have ..." he drifts off, letting the rest of the thought sink with the sun. "It's ... it's just a very nice thing to think about."

                _"Yeah"_ Dean finally manages to breathe, because— he wasn't sure of what to expect by coming here, but Castiel being open and honest wasn't anywhere on his list of assumptions. _He really has changed._

                The other man finally pulls himself upright, stiffening his spine while exhaling long and slow. "I know you might not think I enjoyed our time together, Dean. I know I gave you that impression ... I suppose I was trying to make the break easier; but— the weeks we spent, just you and me ... those were the moments I actually had hope."

                Dean's eyes round as they fall across Castiel's face. Not a trace, not even a twitch of a lie mars his skin— he's not telling him what he thinks Dean _wants_ to hear. He's just talking, making up for years and years of silence.

                "I actually told myself that it was a sign when you didn't immediately chase me down. I thought that that meant you finally came to your senses and realized I wasn't worth the effort. How conceited I was ... how selfish."

                "Cas" Dean huffs, tilting his head towards the man— hoping that he'll understand what he wishes he could say.

                But Castiel simply raises a palm and halts any further attempts, leaving only the rustling wheat and grass to voice their opinions.

                Dean deflates, wishing he had something to offer here, but deep down, he knows this needed to be said. Castiel needed to say it, and Dean needed to hear it ... it's the only way either of them will be able to move on.

                "Those _crappy situations,_ as you call them ..." Castiel eventually forces with a chuckle, after the crickets decide to have their own conversation, "they really know how to take a toll, don't they?"

                It's a weak attempt at leveling the mood, but Dean appreciates it all the same. “Yeah, but—thankfully, at least _for me_ … those crappy situations seem to be over." He stands straighter when his past aches can't seem to find a toe hold. "I started up another shop, ya know? And ... it’s doing really, really well. I got a house—I got a kickass little nephew who is about the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. I’m … I’m happy.”

                 Those blues clear and then focus in on him yet again, turning up at the edges and smoothing over with all the warmth and contentment in the world. “I am so glad to hear that, Dean. _Truly_ … you _need_ to be happy.”

                Dean beams, loving how the man’s tone makes him feel lighter— _more calm_. “And … what about you? Are _you_ —happy?”

                Castiel glances away for a second time and then shrugs his shoulders—eventually pushing out his bottom lip as he nods. “ _Well_ , I have a budget that I just can’t seem to balance, and my sister’s pestering husband won’t stop calling me for business advice. And no matter how hard I try, I just can’t seem to beat Gabriel when we go bowling. It’s rather unnerving. _I think he cheats_ ; however, I don’t know how one _could_ cheat at bowling. Maybe he bribes the man at the front desk to change his score or rig the machinery, or _something_ to that effect— _lord knows_ he has the money for that level of deception now. Maybe if _I_ pay the man off to _not_ accept Gabriel’s bribe—”

                Dean’s raucous laughter cuts Cas short.

                “What?” the other man asks, tilting his head to the side— _finally_ , in the adorable way that Dean has missed so much.

                Dean sputters and wheezes some more, but he soon settles down, turning his body around so that he can pat Castiel on the shoulder. “Nothing, dude … it just—it sounds like you _are_ happy.”

                The confusion continues to play on Castiel’s face, but eventually a smile replaces it all. “Yes … I suppose you’re right. I am happy. Very much so.”

                Dean nods but he doesn’t move his hand. Instead, deciding to give Cas a light squeeze as he looks him hard in the eye— tossing himself headfirst into the memories of how the man used to crumble beneath his touch.

                “Dean?” Cas breathes—after they’ve gone on staring at one another for an immeasurable length of time.

                “Yeah?”

                “Why are you squeezing my shoulder?”

                Dean slumps a bit, before letting his hand fall away again. “I … I dunno.”

                “Are you trying to be flirtatious?”

                _Now this is just embarrassing._ ” _Trying_ —I guess.”

                “So, after all these years—you’re _still_ not very smooth?”

                Dean snorts and rolls his eyes. “Guess not.”

                Castiel grins at him, making Dean’s stomach twists around itself, flipping inside out and over. “Dean?” he says once more—making his name sound like the most precious of gifts.

                “What is it, Cas?”

                “I am going to kiss you now.”

                Dean grins, leaving his embarrassment behind so that he can focus on pressing himself up against Castiel’s chest, draping his arms around the back of his neck, pulling the man in as close as he can and holding on tight while smiling at the fact that _now_ , nothing is going to make him let go. “ _About fucking time.”_

* * *


	36. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Six Years Later *

* * *

* * *

 

                “Will you stop giggling? It’s highly inappropriate!”

                Dean ducks his head even further, but he’s too tall to really hide behind the pew. “Sorry” he stutters, still vibrating and wheezing like an asthmatic old man.

                “Dean … _be quiet_!” Castiel hisses again—looking up soon after with apologetic eyes to the people sitting in front of them.

                But Dean just can’t help himself. _This is all too unreal._ “She actually did it though!” he strangles out, not understanding how this cosmic joke isn’t hilarious to his now,  very annoyed husband.

                “Yes, _she did_ —which is why it is so wrong that you’re laughing about it.”

                “But the old bag _did it!_ She died! She _actually_ up and died!” Dean lets one more round of stifled laughter spurt past his lips before slapping his hand across his mouth; but over half the church is already turning around to glare him down.

                “Dadday?”

                Dean chuckles for a few more seconds but quickly clears his throat, trying to compose himself before he looks down into his daughter’s curious eyes. “Yes, Sugarplum?”

                Lilly Beth pulls her small hand to her hip—dark skin singing beautifully against the white frills of her dress. She gives him a stern look—something that she obviously learned from Cas over the years. “Don’ call me Sugahplum!” she whines, and it makes Dean start to giggle all over again.

                He clears his throat a second time and nods, swiftly pushing his finger to his lips, shushing her while reminding himself to do the same. “Sorry, Baby Girl … what did you want to ask me?”

                The child’s dark brown eyes soften and round with the memory of her question. “I thought ya say Mrs. Mason was a nice ladeh—but you don’ soun like ya like her ver much.”

                His shoulders sink and his chest expands, filling with love and amazement for his tiny, little miracle. Her sweet face and thick Alabama accent melt him every single time she speaks, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever _stop_ melting—not until he’s nothing more than a puddle on the floor. It’s what made them adopt her in the first place.

                They had talked about adopting a child for a couple of years, but they never pulled the trigger— either Dean didn’t feel like he was ready, or Cas wasn’t sure if they could afford to really give a child everything they might need; but when a business transaction pulled Dean down south to Alabama, that all changed. The auto shop that he was dealing with just happened to be right next door to an orphanage. It didn’t really catch his attention at first, but just as he was about to leave, Dean saw an adorable little, three year old girl, helping an old woman bring groceries into the building—talking a mile a minute about everything under the sun. Dean felt like it was a sign. Something in him seemed to light up—he could never explain it, even if he knew every word of every language in the world, it would be impossible for him to describe how his heart opened up that day. Thankfully, Castiel knew him well enough to know that when Dean is speechless, it must be over something important. So he and Cas went back to Alabama and met with the orphanage manager, Ms. Constance Able—a sweet, grandmotherly type with such a thick drawl, that they could barely understand her. She had raised babies in that place for the last forty five years—focusing on infants who either lost their parents during birth, or were abandoned shortly thereafter. Lilly Beth was the latter, being that she was left at the alter of a church in the middle of the night … only just four days old. Her mother was rumored to have been too young to take care of even herself, none the less—a child; but no one could be certain. It broke the men’s hearts to think of that beautiful baby being left all alone; but thankfully, Ms. Able gave her so much love, Lilly barely knew that she didn’t have any real parents.

                Dean and Cas met Lilly Beth that very same evening—and ever since, Dean has been wrapped around that girl’s tiny, tiny finger … and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

                Dean grins, hardly able to believe that it’s already been three years since they brought her into their home. She’s gotten so big and so much more beautiful, it kind of breaks his heart; so he bends at the knees before quickly scooping the six year old into his arms, holding her close and hugging her tight, while she’s still small enough to do so. “I _did_ like Mrs. Mason, baby. I did … she just was … well, you see … Mrs. Mason, was nice but in a rough kind of way. Ya know, like when Papa helps you with your homework? He’s nice about it, but he’s still very serious.”

                “Oh—so, she wa’ like Pa?”

                “Well … not really. She was just … very _different_ from anyone I have ever met before. I dunno, she’s hard to describe.” With _child appropriate terms_ , Dean thinks simultaneously, and judging by the half-smile he sees Castiel wearing, the man is thinking the same thing.

                “Mrs. Mason ...” Cas begins, interjecting with a whisper—he leans in close but still keeps his eyes on the priest up front, “was a very smart, loyal and respectable woman. She acted like everyone’s grandmother, while also acting like their boss … and even though she may not have always been the most warm or welcoming, she always helped those in need. She was a wonderful example to anyone who met her. I know I will miss her dearly.”

                “You knew the ladeh too, Pa?”

                Castiel finally tears his eyes away from the front of the church, turning instead to the little angel in Dean's arms. “Yes I did, Lil-Beth. She was actually my nanny. She knew me since I was as young as you are now.”

                “Realleh?” Lilly asks, engulfed in an innocent wonder.

                “Yeah … hard to believe your Papa was ever that young, _huh?_ ” Dean chuckles, tickling the girl’s ribs while giving Castiel a wink.

                Lilly laughs, but she knows better than to agree with her daddy when he’s obviously looking for trouble. _Smart, lil’ thing._

                Castiel glares at Dean but just rolls his eyes, eventually placing all his attention once more on the priest and his kind words about Maggie Mason.

                “Magdalen Audrey Mason was a pillar of this community. Her presence here was a staple—and all who lived here or _still do_ live here, know her name. As I look out over all of you now, it is obvious the impact that she has had on the good people of Huntsville, because every one of you are here today to pay your respects. Only a woman of great faith and great conviction could draw such an impressive crowd upon her passing. She will be missed by each and every one of us, for we each have a special memory of this wonderful woman, and I ask you now to draw upon those memories as we bow our heads in a moment of silence. Let’s us _think about_ and _thank_ Maggie Mason for her time here on this earth, and for all the good and love she instilled in our hearts.”

                The room stills and all goes quiet, except for the occasional coos and squeaks coming from two rows back—where Anna and Jeffery are currently bouncing a rambunctious baby boy.

                Dean hangs his head, leaning it lightly against Lilly-Beth’s shoulder, as the girl takes note of the room and of her fathers before quickly following suit and closing her eyes too. Dean hugs her tighter. _Such a good, little girl. Mrs. Mason would've loved her._

                It’s a shame they never brought Lilly to Huntsville to meet Maggie—but the truth is, the last three years have been so busy, they barely got a chance to do anything other than work and take care of their daughter. They had moved to the small town of Waverly shortly before they got married, because it was exactly halfway between Huntsville and Dean's shop. They bought a modest house on a good stretch of land out there, and spent most of their days remodeling it until it was exactly what they wanted. They built on a large garage—big enough for the Impala, as well as Cas’s old Cadillac that he purchased so they could fix it up together. They spent their first year of marriage huddled up in that garage—sometimes fixing up the cars … sometimes bare naked and deep inside one other; either way … it was a bonding experience.

                When they _could_ manage to break away from their busy schedules, they traveled back to Lawrence to spend time with Sam and Jess, and little John—who wasn’t so little at all anymore. The twelve year old boy looked nearly sixteen, and he had no problem wrestling his uncle to the ground every time they’d play and rough-house. One time—the kid actually dislocated Dean’s shoulder. John felt awful about it and cried for a solid hour … because even though he _looked_ big, he still had a child’s heart. Dean couldn’t be mad though … however, Jess and Sam could—at the  _both_ of them. Dean and John each got an earful about the proper ways to play. But it didn’t stop them … they’ll still wrestle and come close to breaking each other in two every time they stop in for a visit. _Damn_ … Dean loves that kid.

                But he settled down some as soon as Lilly Beth came into the picture—mainly because he _had to._ Dean and Cas’s days in the garage changed—going from the two of them getting down and dirty in every conceivable way, to the two of them teaching their little girl how to change a car’s oil, or how to identify all the signs of a coolant leak. She soon had her own set of coveralls, and now knows more about fixing engines than most licensed mechanics do. Cas is also teaching her how to play the piano, but Dean thinks his baby's heart truly lies in gears and axle grease.

                And he couldn’t be prouder.

                All that occupied a lot of time however,  and It didn’t take long after they adopted Lilly for Castiel to leave Lew’s in the hands of Abigail, so that he could stay home with their daughter. As much as he loved that shop, he loves Lilly more … and traveling an hour each day into Huntsville was just too much of a hassle to keep up with. So Dean took over the breadwinning—driving back and forth to _his_ shop, along that old stretch of highway that brought him and Cas together in the first place.

                So with all the changes and commuting, and getting settled into their new, little life—the three didn’t have many reasons to go back to Huntsville, except to occasionally visit Anna and Jeffery. Usually however, they’d come to Dean and Cas’s house—because Anna said that _theirs_ was too much of a mess for visitors. Jeffery is apparently, not very well kempt … and Castiel never passes up a moment to tease his neat-freak sister about it.

                So all in all, visiting Castiel’s old nanny _did_ cross their minds, but it kept getting pushed aside and pushed aside … until the day that Castiel got a call from his sister, letting him know that Mrs. Mason had passed away. He may not show it now, but the man was crushed, and Dean spent the following nights holding him close while he quietly cried himself to sleep. He wasn’t sure if the tears were really for the old woman, or for everything she reminded him of—and Dean didn’t ask. Castiel may be a lot more open these days, and far more in touch with his emotions, but he still hates showing any sort of vulnerability, especially in front of Dean.

                So Dean just holds him, and promises never to let go.

 

                When the moment of silence is over, the priest asks everyone to come up to the casket to say their goodbyes; so Dean and Cas wave down Anna and Jeffery and ask them if they can watch Lilly when it’s their turn to go up. The couple agrees of course, but the two still look panicked with the idea of watching _two_ children, since their little Levi is already such a handful. He’s only about a year old, but he’s stronger and more wily than a toddler.

 _Lucky for them, Lilly-Beth is the sweetest child to ever exist_ … although, Dean may be just _a little_ bias, so she shouldn't add to their burden. 

                “What thing did ya think abou’ dadday?” Lilly asks, after a few minutes pass of them all quietly watching the rows stand up and file into the procession.

                “ _Hm?_ ” Dean responds, unsure of what his girl means, since he’s still fairly distracted by the glimpses he gets of the open casket through the crowd of people.

                “When the man up front said everyone shoul’ think abou’ somthin’. Wha’ did ya and Pa think abou?”

                Dean finally forces himself to break away, looking back on his daughter, amazed all over again that this thoughtful child is actually _theirs_. “Oh, well—I can’t speak for Papa, but I thought about the first time I met Mrs. Mason. She used to own a small hotel, and I got a room there the night that me and Papa met each other.”

                “Oh” Lilly says, wrapping her arms around Dean’s neck and pulling herself higher onto his hip. “Wa’ she nice to ya?”

                Dean has to laugh. “ _Uh_ … she wasn’t necessarily _nice_ … but, she was— _professional_. At least at first.”

                “She didn’t like Daddy very much” Cas adds suddenly, as if _that_ point needed to be clarified to their six year old.

                “She didn’t need to know that!” Dean grumbles, turning Lilly away as he turns his head towards his husband and glares him down.

                But Cas only shrugs and smiles smugly.

                “Why didn’ she like ya?” Lilly Beth asks immediately … to _no one’s_ surprise.

                Dean groans, hesitating on the right words to use. “Well she … she didn’t really think that Papa and I should … she didn’t … she didn’t want us to date.”

                “But _why?_ ” Lilly asks again, stretching out the end of her words like sticky, southern taffy.

                “Because, sweetheart … Daddy was not the most charming man. At least … not back then” Cas jumps in once more, grinning even wider now.

                “I charmed _you_!” Dean insists, but Castiel just gives him another shrug.

                “I think you’re charmin’, Dadday. I bet she jus’ didn’ know no bettah.”

                Dean bites his lips to keep himself from making some sort of embarrassing noise—choosing to hug his daughter closer, instead. He’s overwhelmed that she truly sees him like that: strong, charming, someone with all the answers. “Thank you, Sweet Pea.”

                “Dadday! Don’ call meh Sweet Pea!”

                Dean laughs and Cas does too. “Alright, Baby Cakes.”

                “ _Dadday!_ ” she whines again, pulling her arms away so that she can stretch them out towards Castiel, wanting _him_ to do something about this horrible injustice. “Papa—tell ‘im to stop!”

                “Sorry, Lil-Beth. I can’t get your Daddy to stop doing _anything_ … he’s simply impossible.” Castiel laughs a moment more before reaching over to snatch the tiny thing from Dean’s arms.

                Now it’s Dean’s turn to pout. “Aww, Baby Girl … you’re sidin’ with _him?_ ”

                “He don’ call me silly names!” Lilly huffs, folding her arms across her chest as she turns up her nose at him.

                “ _Well_ , can you blame me? You’re just the most beautiful, smart, and wonderful girl in the entire world! I can’t think of anything other than silly things, because you make my brain melt into jelly! It’s probably squirting outta my ears right now!” Dean leans over and turns his ear towards the girl. “ _See_ —look inside. It’s all Jam and mothballs in there!”

                Lilly tries not to, but she’s soon giggling—covering up her mouth with baby fingers to stop the sound from escaping.

                “It’s true … Daddy’s brain is a mess. It always has been, but when _you_ came along, it _all_ turned to mush” Cas confirms, punctuating the thought with a kiss on their daughter’s cheek.

                “ _Gee_ —thanks, man” Dean laughs—now, folding _his_ arms as Lilly erupts into even more giggles. “Tell me again why I married you?”

                Castiel grins at him, causing all the wrinkles around his eyes to bunch togethr. The blue peeks out in warm, little bursts, and his grey hair shivers as he quietly chuckles; and even though the last six years show in every new line on his face, Castiel is still as beautiful as the day Dean met him. “Because you love me. I’m not sure _why_ you love me, but you tell me every day, so—I suppose it has to be true.”

                Dean shakes his head, but all his mock-frustration melts away with his urge to kiss the man. So he leans in and gives Castiel a peck on the corner of his mouth, lying his forehead against his immediately after—breathing him in as if he’s the only thing good enough to fill his lungs. “I do … I love you. I must be crazy, but I love you so much.”

                “ _Dadday_ …” Lilly Beth drones, annoyed by her parents’ embarrassing mushiness, or by the fact that they’re no longer paying attention to her. Dean isn’t sure of which, but he doesn’t have time to figure it out because the people in their pew are starting to slip into the aisle.

                “Sorry, Baby Girl … we have to go up to say our goodbyes to Mrs. Mason now. You run on back to Aunt Anna and Uncle Jeff. Help ‘em out with your cousin, okay?”

                The little girl’s face instantly lights up, until she’s wriggling so hard that Cas is forced to put her down. She loves her cousin, Levi—and she never misses a chance to play with him and pretend like he’s her own, personal doll. Levi, on the other hand, is not always as thrilled to be man handled in such a way; but that never seems to faze Lilly in the least.

                “Be gentle!” Cas calls out, because the girl bolts to the back pews as soon as her feet touch the ground.

                The two men give each other some knowing looks, and each hold their breath as they wait for that baby’s inevitable cry. After two more seconds, an annoyed shriek bounces off of every corner of that vaulted ceiling, and Dean and Cas each redden with second hand embarrassment.

                Dean hazards a peek back as they move into the procession line, watching Lilly hug Levi close and swing him back and forth—while the baby struggles helplessly in her arms. Anna watches the two carefully, but Jeffery just looks relieved that he no longer has to be the one wrangling in his son. Dean laughs. “Man … your _poor_ sister.”

                Castiel follows his gaze and then shrugs. “Well—she married a big baby, and then _had_ a baby with him. She brought it upon herself.”

                Dean muffles another laugh and then elbows his husband in the side. “Stop bein’ a jerk.”

                Castiel just shrugs once more before shuffling forward, bringing them slightly closer to the casket.

                Dean continues to chuckle until they’re both about ten feet away from the front of the church, and then all at once—the humor rushes from him like water from a busted hydrant.

                They move a little closer.

                His skin begins to dampen and his hands start to shake.

                “She looks so _different_ ” Castiel whispers, when they’re only just a few people from their turn.

                Dean bobs his head in agreement, but he can’t seem to speak anymore.

                When it’s finally their time to look in on Mrs. Mason, lying in her silky white bed—eyes closed, dressed in a simple linin gown, with her rosary woven tightly between her folded hands, Dean feels his eyes begin to burn.

                “Thank you for everything, Maggie. You were like another mother to me, and … I don’t know where I would be if you weren’t in my life.” Castiel’s voice is slightly choked, but he remains composed—he’s a master at that, and Dean envies him so much for it right now, he can hardly even breathe.

                Castiel then steps aside, allowing for Dean to take his place. But when he looks down on that ancient, weathered woman—he finds, he can no longer breathe at all. _She’s actually gone._ It was funny before—because it was just so absurd that Dean was actually expecting her to pop right out of the casket and start lecturing him again; but she’s perfectly still. Her skin is sunken and a little too grey, even though she’s been covered with makeup to make her look livelier. Yet, even so, there’s just no denying it now—she is really and truly _dead_ , and that impossible fact cuts Dean down at the knees.

                “Dean?” Castiel whispers, tugging on his arm after they’ve been standing there for longer than the customary moment. “Dean, are you alright?”

                Dean wants to nod, but lying right now in front of Mrs. Mason’s lifeless body seems just so _wrong_ —so he doesn’t move, and he doesn’t utter a word.

                “ _Dean?_ ” Cas asks again, pulling at his jacket sleeve a little more in order to get him to walk away.

                “I’m sorry” Dean garbles suddenly, surprising even himself, but he feels so overwhelmingly awful—he just can’t help it. “I’m … I’m so sorry, Maggie.” And with that he reaches into the casket and touches the old woman’s hand, giving it the lightest squeeze before letting go again and rushing past his husband—heading straight for the side door that leads outside.

                Castiel follows him and soon, they’re both squinting against the morning sun and huffing in the muggy, summer air. “Dean … what’s the matter?”

                Dean shakes his head and wipes at his eyes, turning away from Cas’s concern and propelling himself in circles as he tries to wrap his mind around what just happened in there. “I dunno, man … I just …”

                His husband steps forward to stop Dean’s pacing—placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “What is it?”

                Dean looks down at their feet. “I … I dunno … she just … I can’t believe …”

                “I know” Castiel offers, quickly pulling Dean into a hug.

                But that only succeeds in making Dean breakdown completely. “She wasn’t ever supposed to _die!_ ”

                “I know … I know we always said that; but realistically …”

                “I _know_ that she was gonna die at some point, Cas—I’m not an idiot” Dean grumbles through his tears, eventually pulling away so that he can wipe at his face again. And after a few more calming breaths, he puts his hands on his hips and looks back at the church. “It’s just … she was like … she was in our beginning, man. She was this mean, surly old pillar in the middle of _everything_. I didn’t realize how much … I just …”

                “You didn’t realize how much she meant to you?”

                Dean nods, feeling silly now that the words have been said aloud. After all, Mrs. Mason was a bitch to him 99.9% of the time, but in so many weird, roundabout ways—she was the reason they’re even together right now. She cared enough to tell Dean what he needed to hear all those years ago—she told him about Castiel’s history and _why_ he was the way he was. She helped Dean understand; and even though it’d still be years before they got back together, Mrs. Mason’s role in the whole thing could not be denied. And now that she’s gone, it feels like a part of _their story_ is gone with her; and Dean feels horrible for never having thanked her for all that she did for them. He missed his chance, and now he’ll never get it back.

                “You know … she was at our wedding” Castiel says suddenly, shocking Dean right out of his pitty-spiral.

                “What?”

                “ _Mhm_. She was there. She stood in the back and she left before the reception, but I saw her just before we said our vows.”

                Dean wipes at his eyes so he can gawk at his husband. “But she … she never really gave us her blessing. She thought it was all a horrible sin or some bullshit.”

                “Yes, well … I suppose she made an exception that day” Cas chuckles, reaching out to hold Dean’s hand—twining their fingers together and squeezing them tight. “I asked her about it the next time I saw her, and even though it took some time, she eventually said that she was happy for us. She just wanted to see me on my wedding day. Apparently she had always dreamed of it; although, I was marrying a _woman_ in her dreams, but she said that _you’d_ do in a pinch.”

                Dean feels himself warm up again, and soon—he’s laughing louder than ever before, because that’s just such a _Maggie Mason-thing_ to say. “Wow … I just … _wow_.”

                “She liked you, Dean. Much to my surprise, she liked you and she liked the idea of us together. I imagine that she knew you liked her too.”

                With a smile and an overwhelmed sigh, Dean nods. “I sure hope so … she was a good woman.”

                “Yes, yes she was.”

                “A stubborn woman.”

                Castiel laughs. “That too.”

                “A real pain in my ass at times.”

                “ _Dean_ …”

                “I still think she overcharged me every time I stayed at her inn.”

                Castiel rolls his eyes before turning on his heels to head back into the church.

                But that doesn’t stop Dean from continuing—trotting just behind to follow Cas inside. “And ya know, there was one time that the heater in my room didn’t work, and she _never_ bothered to send anyone up to fix it. I called like three times! She probably wished I woulda froze to death!”

                “Well, _you should’ve_ just stayed with me, like I told you to do in the first place.”

                “We were starting over, Cas! I didn’t want to rush things.”

                But Castiel just laughs before taking Dean’s hand, leading them back down the center aisle of the church—both lighting up the second they see their daughter wave and call them over; both amazed that _this_ is their life now. Both, silently thanking Mrs. Mason for the role that she played in getting them here.

                _Thanks, Maggie_ … _thank you for everything._

 

_\- End -_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure if I was going to add onto this story, but I thought about this moment for a while now and I finally had to write it down. The idea of Dean and Cas adopting an adorable, little girl ... the thought of them teaching her to fix up cars ... the thought of them finally becoming their own family-- well, it was just too lovely to pass up. I hope you all enjoyed this extended conclusion as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and for your encouraging thoughts and comments along the way. You are why I do what I do.

**Author's Note:**

> For completed Destiel and Cockles works, check out the rest of my Ao3.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at [Castiel-Left-His-Mark-On-Me](http://castiel-left-his-mark-on-me.tumblr.com)


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